


Tethered

by mssdare



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AI, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anal Fingering, Androgyny, Angst, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Cyberpunk, Depression, Drug Addiction, Emotions, Evil Corporations, Future, Germany, Happy Ending, M/M, Moving Tattoo(s), New York City, Overdosing, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rehabilitation, Road Trips, Romance, Science Fiction, Tattoos, Trains, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000, cyber-addiction, cyberspace, cyborgization, post-humans, the powers are the effect of cyborgization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the post-Crash future, where people plug into the Infospace for pleasure, and governments fight with corporations and off-grid groups for power, ex-professor and cyber addict Charles Xavier tries to save the world from another system's failure.<br/>Everything changes for Charles when Raven forces her strung-out brother to help the rebellion of the Brotherhood, led by the notorious Magneto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceAltie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceAltie/gifts).



> This is my first X-Men story - please be gentle with me! ;)  
> I'm posting this as a WIP and it won't be much longer than 40k so we are almost there (2 chapters left to be posted). 
> 
> I want to thank [**SpaceAltie**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceAltie/pseuds/spaceAltie) for wanting to collaborate with me on a Cyberpunk story and inspiring me to write it!!!  
>  See her gorgeous drawing of Charles [**here**](http://spacealtie.tumblr.com/post/119549846967/tethered-an-illustration-for-the-cyberpunk).
> 
> Many thanks to my best-in-the-world beta Sillygoose (Sonofsilly) and my ever-supportive prereader Daroh (Yesimafan).
> 
> This story is strongly influenced by the world and concepts created by William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan, Masamune Shirow, Mamoru Oshii and other Cyberpunk creators. If you feel like some of the words or ideas I'm using aren't clear enough, I prepared a small glossary while writing a Merlin Cyberpunk fic - it can be found [**here**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1435423#work_endnotes).

  **TETHERED**

 

 

1.

 

The sky above the city was gray and dirty, clouds hanging low, promising more rain. Charles sighed and turned his gaze away from the window; the dim light was still way too bright for him. He was grateful for the relative silence here up top. On the 160th floor, everything felt distant and peaceful, but if Charles went down to the ground level he’d surely be flooded by all the noise: the stream of people, the neon lights, the adverts, and the levitating, wheezing H-cars. He winced at the thought of it.

He wiped his eyes with his index finger and thumb and slowly pushed the Infospace helmet off his head. Unhooking the wire at the base of his skull was tricky. He hissed when it scraped the socket, making him dizzy for a while. It was like scraping teeth with a metal cleaning tool—not exactly painful, but not pleasant at all.

The display of the central op-system in his apartment showed 5:36 p.m., so only about four hours had passed since he’d plugged in, but for all Charles knew it could have been the next day. When hooked in, he could never really feel time flow. Most people used some kind of alarm to sync the timeframe within Infospace to the linear progression of time offline, but Charles couldn’t be bothered. It was just a distraction from his work, and besides, it’s not as if he had anywhere to be.

“You’re no longer a professor, Charlie boy,” he sang to himself mockingly, shaking his head as he put the equipment down. He’d fucked that job up but good. Too many missed classes, missed office hours with students, and ungraded assignments were more than the board could handle, even if he was a bloody genius. He might have been the youngest professor in the new UNY, but he’d also had the shortest tenure. Oh well. More time for research and work in the Infospace, Charles thought as he stood up, stretching his arms and legs. His body felt stiff, like perhaps he’d been wired up for much longer after all.

There was a hollow feeling in his stomach. Charles looked around to reorient himself, remember the layout of his place, and he whooped in triumph when he found a half-munched protein bar. It was supposed to be nuts and cocoa, but it tasted like dried soy beans covered in dirt. There was no tea left in his mug, just a filthy film coating the edges, so he reluctantly went over to the kitchen to make more, eyeing the dirty cups in the sink with disdain. Almost three thousand years of modern humanity, people living on bloody Orbit-stations around the Earth, and yet no one had come up with self-cleaning cups. Perhaps instead of working on patterns interweaving the Infospace, Charles could come up with the prototype for this. Certainly it’d pay better, not that he needed any more money. He was hardly able to spend the massive amount left to him by his father, and if he wanted more cash he supposed he could always hack into the Info-space’s banking schematics without being traced. Once upon a time, Charles had thought his inner morality wouldn’t let him steal, but he’d long ago lost any illusions about himself he might have had. The point was, he’d never lack for funds, one way or another.

The magnetic kettle emitted a gentle ding, and tea poured into the mug, done just the way he liked it. At least that one thing was perfect in Charles’s life.

His legs felt wobbly so he sat down on the kitchen stool, but maintaining upright posture even while sitting wasn’t easy either. He leaned down on the countertop, enjoying the cool, glass surface of it on his cheek. The headache was creeping up on him, as it always did, lingering at the back of his skull and then spreading, spreading until he’d soon be unable to sit or think. Better to stifle it before it got its hooks into him deep. Charles dug into his pockets and took out a crumpled pain-killing patch. He ripped open the wrapper and stuck the small square on his arm. The tea was warming up his hands and the nutrients from the bar were slowly kicking in, too, and finally Charles felt good enough to get up to use the toilet. Perhaps he should invest in one of those catheters so he wouldn’t need to stop and emerge from Infospace at all, provided he could get some long-lasting protein supplements. A whole IV setup might be just the thing.

He shook his head at himself. This wasn’t healthy, but he was beyond caring, really. No one cared. Not since Moira left him. Or maybe Moira had left him because he didn’t care enough. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Thinking about Moira was only going to give Charles a stronger headache, though, and he surely didn’t need _that_ , so he slowly dragged himself back to his makeshift office and sat back down with a sigh. The armchair was familiar and comfortable, supporting Charles in all the ways he needed. Here, as he plugged the wire into his skull socket and pushed his helmet back on his head, he felt… at home. Good. He could relax and dive in, enjoy the exhilarating rush of the first data flow, the lights and numbers and the feeling of millions of minds plugged in at the same time.

This—oh this he did care about.

 

***

Charles cursed when he reached a wall of solid bright ice spreading all around him, stretching left, right, and up higher than the eye could see. It was the third time he’d encountered this block. He backed out, folding the levels of the Infospace’s architecture, trying hard not to mix up the order of the code, and then he moved in again, opening up each level carefully, mindful of the data traps and back-ends.

Ultraviolet lights in the final corridor reminded him of nightclubs he used to visit when he was still into partying and not obsessed with trying to understand the hidden fields of Infospace. It felt like a lifetime ago: a carefree one, before he’d met Moira, before she’d invited him on board of her project with CIA, before he’d taken the burden of trying to spare the world a second fallout.

Charles was too young to really remember the breakdown of the first Internet twenty-five years earlier, or the collapse of the world’s governments and banking systems, and then the nuclear meltdowns at plants in Europe that followed the chaos. He’d been three then, barely able to comprehend the loss of his own father, let alone the world’s tragic news. But growing up in the post-Crash world meant he’d seen firsthand the effect it had on people, so he dreaded the threat of vicious corpo-groups or terrorists getting hold of the Info-space only to break it again. And if Charles could help it, he wasn’t going to let it happen ever again.

The violet-lit tunnel ended abruptly, and there Charles was again, standing in front of the white ice wall. It surely couldn’t belong to any of the newly established US government branches. It was way too well done. He focused hard on the code to keep it from throwing him out again, trying to see through the patterns of the net. This bit of Info-space was very old-fashioned and formulaic—very unlike the commercial parts that almost always had interfaces with realistic representation, where avatars looked like real people, and creatures moved realistically around streets, rooms and forests. Here, in this hidden corner, everything was rough and geometrical, as if built from blocks.

Charles made sure not to disrupt the code when he reached out toward the glittering surface. He inched closer, bit by bit, focusing on patterns and making his movements as unobtrusive as possible. He’d almost touched the wall when the ice rippled and a harsh, sudden shock jolted him back. Blinding white light hit him hard like a whip.  

 

***

"I swear to God, Charles, one of these days you'll _fry_ your stupid brain."

He felt his helmet being yanked off and the wire being disconnected from the socket in the back of his head, thank God, gently enough. He blinked, trying to clear his vision from the lingering effects of the white light. It was dim in the room, but even this subdued glow made his head pound. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes. There was something wet and sticky on his face, and as he wiped his mouth and squinted at the back of his hand he saw blood smeared on his skin. Great. Another nosebleed. 

Above him Raven was bending down with an angry (and maybe worried?) expression on her face, although it was hard to read his sister’s features when she turned on all the holo-tattoos, changing her skin into blue and purple that rippled with her every move. 

"Could you"—he grunted—"stop that?" He waved at her face. It was hard to focus when the holograms were changing like a kaleidoscope. "You’re making me sick."

"Good to know I disgust you. You're an asshole, Charles," Raven said, but she settled one image on her face, making it easier for Charles to watch her. He tried to stand up, but instead he landed in a crouch on his hands and knees on the floor, next to the chair. A new jolt of pain shot through his skull, blinding him again.

"Fuck!"

There must be painkiller somewhere. He patted his pockets, checking each of them, and he finally managed to extract a patch. He made a mental note to get more, as he was running out. He inspected his arms, hesitating, but there was not much space on his skin anymore; his arms were mostly covered with patches—some still relatively fresh, and some already spent, dirty and peeling at the edges. 

He sat back heavily on the floor, leaning against the wall with a sigh, and placed the patch on his neck. It wasn’t the best place, he knew, but he could hardly complain when he started feeling the first effects of the painkiller almost immediately. He allowed his eyes to shut, leaned his head back with a thud, and exhaled, trying to calm the queasiness in his stomach that always accompanied high dose nano-hydrocodone. His mouth felt dry and his heart seemed to be pounding too fast.

When he next opened his eyes, Raven was in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets in search of God knew what. Charles was pretty sure there wasn't even a protein bar in the pantry. He heard the ding of the microwave, and soon enough Raven was next to him, pushing a synthetic paper bowl of steaming noodles into his hands.

"Not hungry," Charles said, but lacked the strength to either argue or push the bowl aside, so he just let it rest on his knees, warming up his skin. 

"Eat."

Raven extracted a real tobacco cigarette from her purse and lit it with an old-fashioned silver-encrusted lighter. The smoke rose slowly when she exhaled, making a gentle pattern so much more natural and beautiful than anything Charles had seen in the Infospace’s animations. Charles could hear Raven’s steady breathing and thought that he could maybe fall asleep if she only agreed to stay and keep him company. He didn’t remember the last time he’d slept for more than a few hours.

He reached to take the cigarette from Raven’s hand, keeping the noodle bowl in place with his other palm. He took a drag and handed the cigarette back to Raven. The smell of the tobacco burned its way into his nose but it felt nice: sharp and real. Thank God, the painkiller had finally subdued the headache to a dull pounding, and Charles felt less like puking now. He was floating, light and loose, flying like ash in the air.

"You shouldn't smoke,” he told Raven, and she snorted, shaking her head.

"Eat, Charles. You look like death warmed over."

Charles tried to take a spoonful of the noodles but his stomach strongly disagreed with the idea, so he just took a sip of the broth and put the bowl down. "Maybe later." 

Raven didn't comment on that for once, for which Charles was grateful. He picked at one of the old patches, peeling it off his skin as gently as he could. He winced when the glue caught on the thin hair of his freckled forearm. He should really go to one of the Asian clinics to install a pain suppressor in his head, but that would most likely keep him from working in the Info-space for at least two or three months, maybe more. Maybe permanently even, if the suppressor messed up his brain waves, and Charles just couldn't risk it. 

“So,” he asked when Raven stubbed out her cigarette, “what’s brought you here?”

Her face rippled again, for a moment showing an innocent kitten with its face stretched into a smile. It was disturbing. Charles wished Raven would stick to human expressions at least, if she really had to distort her body and face with all the holo-shit she’d permanently tattooed and implanted into her skin.

“I came to see if you’d managed to starve yourself to death yet.”

For a moment Charles wished it were true. He knew he was being unjust because Raven loved him, but still, she never did anything out of sheer generosity.

“I wish you hadn’t gone back to the Hive.”

Raven just stared at him coolly. They’d had this argument a thousand times over. He hated the idea of his little sister living like an outcast in the ersatz city that had been built on the roofs of original New York buildings. The construct itself was a horrid joke to him—metal and synthetic sheds piled one on top of the other, sprawling like a fungus, crooked and distorted. He shuddered as he imagined Raven running on gangplanks between the dwelling spaces, thousands of feet above ground. How people could live without decent plumbing, running water, and waste management was beyond him. But what worried him even more was the Hive’s social structure. It was chaotic yet self-sufficient, detached from the US government, with a loose hierarchy of crazy groups and shady leaders. Survival of the fittest and all that.

He exhaled slowly. “Stay the night at least? I don’t want you slipping on those steel boards in the dark. Did it rain again?” He could picture the world veiled by the dirty droplets that turned everything gray.

Raven laughed. “Does it ever stop?”

“Will you stay, then?” He didn’t want her to notice how desperate he was for her company, for the promise of sleep he could probably lose himself to with her warm, living presence around.

“If you wash yourself.” Wrinkling her nose, she picked the still full noodle bowl up and took it to the kitchen. “Charles, I’m serious!” she shouted, although the sound of her voice was somewhat muted by the angry clinking of cups and bowls as she started to put them in the dishwasher. “I can smell you from here.”

 

***

Later, with his skin mostly clear of old patches and body warmed up by a good thirty minutes spent under the spray of too hot water, available thanks to Charles’s never-ending funds, Charles sank into fresh sheets, relishing the familiarity of Raven’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

He exhaled and let his thoughts drift, pushing him towards unconsciousness. 

“You have to give yourself a break,” Raven whispered in the darkness, tightening her grip on him. “And eat sometimes. God, you’re even thinner than the last time I saw you. You look like those children in the camps with your huge blue eyes and pale face.”

She caressed his still wet hair, tangled and messy because he couldn’t be bothered with trying to comb the knots out of his dark brown curls. Raven’s soothing repetitive motion made his breathing slow down, and the ever-present, heavy pressure in his chest eased a bit.

“Why are you really here?” The dark of night and the comfort of the bed made it easier to ask.

Raven stiffened and then rolled onto her back, depriving Charles of the safety of her arms. He knew she had an agenda. She hadn’t checked on him for weeks, so why now?

Raven’s voice was calm when she began, which made Charles all the more suspicious. “Do you know Emma?”

“The AI?”

“Yes. We’re going to break it.”

Charles chuckled. Right. As if that were possible. _Emma_ was the most elaborate AI he’d ever encountered—more sophisticated than any human mind he’d seen hooked-up into Infospace. She was also the property of the Shaw Corporation that controlled most of the military and half the pharmaceutical industries in the US. Their tentacles reached as deep as the government, through their various subsidiaries. When Charles had been working for the CIA, he’d spent as much time trying to keep his endeavors in the net secret as he’d spent actually gathering information. Trying to break something belonging to Shaw was not only impossible, it was insanity.

“We, being…?”

Raven’s voice was very serious when she answered. “Basically _you_ , Charles. But me too. And Erik.”

“Erik?”

“Magneto.”

Charles raised his eyebrows, even though it couldn’t be visible in the darkness of the bedroom. “Magneto. As in… the leader of the Brotherhood, _Magneto_?”

Raven made a sound of confirmation.

“Whom you call by his first name.”

Again with the sound.

Charles sat up abruptly. “Please tell me you’re not fucking one of the world’s most notorious terrorists.”

Raven sat up too, wrapping her arms around her knees. “He’s not a—You know _nothing_ about Erik and our mission, Charles.”

“Oh God.” Charles lay back again. He was way too tired to have this conversation. The headache was coming back, the throbbing in his head steadily mounting as the painkiller wore off, and Charles didn’t want to be left awake without its power. He was too exhausted to go searching for a new patch, or to think about his sister being involved with a hunted criminal. He patted the space next to him, hoping Raven would settle back to sleep. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Raven smelled of home and safety, and Charles drifted, calmed by her even breathing. He dreamt of the sea of shimmering ice. It blocked his view, growing and growing like a tsunami wave, gathering water and swelling above him until it finally broke, crushing him beneath its enormous weight and burning his skin from the contact with it.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

 

When Charles woke up the next morning, a bit more rested than usual—despite the raging headache growing by the minute—Raven’s spot in his bed was empty. The sheets were crinkled and messy where she must have tossed and turned during the night. She’d never been a peaceful sleeper. Still, Charles preferred getting kicked and elbowed in the ribs to lying awake alone for hours staring at the ceiling. Usually, when he was too fed up with his brain torturing him, he’d just drag himself to his chair, chug an E-drink, and then, riding high on the drink’s pseudo-amphetamines, get lost in Infospace for hours and hours, navigating between realistic representation of places and loose structures of data.

Back when Moira was still living with Charles, he’d been able to sleep more, cocooned in the peace of a human being next to him, but for a long time now rest had become a luxury, and Charles wasn’t going to be picky about whatever he could get.

Gray light was filtering through the half-shut blinds, but it was hard to tell if the rain had stopped; the sound of it was blocked by the thick windows. Charles wiped his eyes, the taste of sleep still lingering in his mouth, and got up, grunting because the pain at the back of his skull intensified in the upright position. He waved his hand in front of the automatic drawer next to his bed, and after rummaging through the contents, managed to produce a painkilling patch.

 _Thank fuck,_ he thought, tearing the foil with his teeth and placing the patch on the inner part of his wrist. The previous night’s shower had helped him to get rid of most of the old patches and had left him with plenty of convenient places on his skin to use once again. The thought of water made him realize his throat felt as if he’d been eating sand all night long. _Tea._ Tea was an important thing, right?

He padded toward the kitchen, scratching the stubble on his chin. A shave was overdue, unless he wanted to grow a real beard. Maybe that was a good idea—he wouldn’t have to worry about shaving anymore. Preoccupied with the thought, he almost stumbled when he heard angry voices coming from behind the wall. Raven was arguing loudly with somebody, and at first Charles thought she was on a 3D-call, but then as he moved closer, he caught a glimpse of her companion.

That was annoying. Even though Charles wouldn’t have forbidden Raven visitors, if she’d asked, it was _his_ place, and inviting someone here while he was sleeping seemed like a cruel breach of trust.

“But Erik said to bring him in,” a rough male voice with an old European accent insisted.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Azazel, I haven’t even talked to him yet. I’m not sure that he’ll agree.”

Raven was pacing back and forth, waving her hands in agitation where she was visible in the kitchen doorway.

“Erik will want to talk to him regardless,” Azazel insisted.

“I just—” Raven stopped when she noticed Charles standing by the door. “Charles, you’re up!”

Charles wasn’t sure what to say. He felt awkward and embarrassed by the state of his clothes and hair and that… _that_ made him angry, because he shouldn’t have to feel awkward in his own place, damn it.

“Good morning, Raven,” he said politely, because if their mother had taught them anything it was manners. “Would you introduce me to our guest?” he added when the owner of the rough voice came into view. He was a huge dark-haired man, covered in either a tech-skin or a pigment that made him red—and not just ancient Himba-tribe red but honest to God dark juicy carmine red. He also had a very real looking tail implant, which he wrapped around a cup of steaming coffee and brought to his mouth. Charles, who had never understood the esthetic appeal of tech implants, thought that maybe the tail had its practical purposes after all.

“Charles, this is Azazel. Azazel—Charles.” Raven gestured to both of them and they all three fell into an uncomfortable silence.

“Right,” Charles said, just a beat too late to be considered good form. “Nice to meet you, Azazel.” He extended his hand to shake with the red guy. Once free of the strong grip he ran his crushed fingers through his hair in attempt to feel more at ease. He wanted his tea.

“Here.” Raven passed him a cup of steaming dark liquid and Charles made a face when he took a sip of strong unsweetened coffee. He sat down on a high stool next to the main counter and placed the cup down, pretending he was going to drink it later. He wanted to make tea, but turning his back to his guest would be rude, and he’d been rude enough already. Plus he didn’t want to offend Raven. God, what a mess.

“So,” he said, noticing he hadn’t even brushed his teeth yet. His mother would be disappointed in his abilities as a host. He gestured to the other stools for Raven and her red companion. “How may I help you?”

“Mr. Xavier—” Azazel started, but Raven snorted and butted in.

“Let’s make it quick. Charles, we’ve managed to locate Shaw physically, and Erik wants to take him down, but Shaw’s too heavily guarded for us to slip through, so we need you to break Emma and get us a clear shot at Shaw.”

Charles, who’d been trying his best to keep his expression as neutral as possible until Raven’s final phrase, covered his eyes with his fingers, pressing hard on the corners of his lids, thinking… well, not thinking at all.

“Anything else?” he asked, his voice muffled. “Or was that it: risk brain death so we can assassinate the world’s most powerful corpo-leader?”

“Charles, I’m serious here. Let’s not waste time. Azazel, tell him!”

“Mr. Xavier, we believe we’ve located not only Shaw’s headquarters, but also the central location of the operating system of Emma. However, Emma is a complex construct—”

Charles gritted his teeth. “Tell me about it.”

“—and we seem to be having trouble with some of Emma’s logical patterns, as well as difficulty controlling her possible influence on anyone trying to reconfigure her.”

“What makes you believe I can help? I’m only human. She’d influence me too, you know. You’d need a second AI, more powerful than Emma.”

Azazel looked unsure, if Charles was reading his facial features correctly underneath all the red. Azazel glanced at Raven, as if with a mute question, and she waved her hand.

“You may as well tell him. He’s not going to betray us, even if he refuses to help. Which you won’t, Charles.” Raven looked at him with a frown. “You won’t pass up such a chance. You’ll see.” She nodded for Azazel to continue.

“We’ve built an AI to match Emma. Better perhaps.”

“But?” Charles prompted, for there must have been a reason why they were talking to him about it. He didn’t really believe that a group of terrorist living as outcasts on the roofs could have built something more elaborate then Emma; the average Hive occupant could barely assemble a prefabricated gun, most of the time.

“Well, _Jean_ —our AI—“ Azazel continued, “she’s designed to crack other AIs, but she’ll need a boost from either another AI, or a human with abilities to alter Infospace. And since we can’t trust any other AI, and we won’t have the resources to build another one…”

“You thought I’d do it,” Charles finished for him. He wondered if he’d be strong enough to keep a connection with an AI. It was possible in theory, but even on government missions no one had ever tried it, not that Charles would know if the projects had been classified.

“Okay, then.” Raven clapped her hands and jumped down off her stool. “Shall we go? We’ve wasted enough time and I don’t want to piss off Erik more than he probably already is.”

“If you’ll excuse me…” Charles turned around and retreated to the bathroom, breathing hard once he’d reached it and the door had closed behind him. He slid down to the floor and banged his head on the door.

“Fuck.”

When had it happened? He used to be such an assertive person, and social too. And now—now he was petrified because of some random person Raven had brought into his home, and because there was, possibly, an interesting reason for him to leave his place. Fuck everything. Once, he’d have been bloody thrilled at the prospect of this connection with an AI, of possible negotiations, the rush of exchanging thoughts and ideas, the chance of testing his limits. And he couldn’t get a grip on himself now. The panic was overwhelming.

He fixed his gaze on a cracked white synthetic tile in front of him and tried to think about random things, but unexpected anger rose inside of him all of a sudden, hot and overwhelming. He was pissed off at Raven for making decisions for him as if he were a child, and at himself for being such a wuss, and at the Brotherhood for wanting to use him for their cause, and again at himself—for being tempted to help a bunch of terrorists. Even if their motives were pure, their methods were not, and Charles could not ignore the reports of their attacks on— _murders of_ —various corpo-leaders along with their guards, employees, sometimes innocent bystanders.

The rage inside of him felt like waves of white heat, pulling on his chest and making his vision foggy. Fight or flight. He clenched his fists hard, digging his nails deep into the flesh of his palms. _Good_ , he thought. Perhaps that would leave a mark. He definitely deserved that for not controlling himself enough, and for being weak enough to want to try Raven’s crazy plan. The pain wasn’t doing its job to quench the fury, but it was a good distraction. He gritted his teeth and held his breath, and held it, and held it, until the pressure in his chest became unbearable and he had to inhale noisily.

There was a knock on the door. “Charles, are you all right?” Raven asked through the wall. “What’s taking you so long? We’ve got to go.”

“Coming,” he said. “Just a minute.” He slowly got up to splash some water on his overheated face. He hissed when the water washed over the shallow crescent cuts on his palms. Uncomfortable embarrassment replaced the previous anger. This was his home, damn it. He shouldn’t feel like this here. And yet, if the earth could crack under his feet and swallow him whole, it wouldn’t be enough to quench this horrible feeling of failing again. He was acting like a child, throwing a tantrum over nothing instead of talking out his concerns like an adult. He could do better. Should do better.

He stood there with his palms under the running water and his gaze fixed hard on the mirror in front of him, not blinking, not bloody blinking to prevent the tears from spilling. He had to wait it out, until his eyes would be dry and his breathing would be even and he wouldn’t want to vanish so fucking much.

When the panic subsided, the only sensation he was left with was tiredness, vast and impassable like an ocean. It washed away everything else, leaving Charles somewhat empty. He walked out of the bathroom calmly and didn’t protest being manhandled by Raven, who threw clothes at him—black jeans, old navy blue cardigan, and tennis shoes—and then dressed him before dragging him to the door of the apartment.

He couldn’t care less about where Raven was taking him, or what the Brotherhood wanted with him, or what he could be doing instead. He closed his eyes, surprised that the tears did not dry after all, but instead spilled out like traitors, warm and wet when he wiped them with the back of his sleeve, pretending he was just fixing his hair. He could only be grateful he was the last one in their little procession, and neither Raven nor her red companion noticed. What he was upset about, though, he wasn't quite sure. 

“Get a grip on yourself, Charles,” Raven said while halting him in the hall. So she’d noticed after all—she’d always been more perceptive than Charles gave her credit for.

He grabbed his tinted Infospace glasses from the foyer table, turning them to standby for now with alerts only in case of emergency, and then followed Raven and Azazel out of his apartment toward the row of tube elevators located at the end of the shiny corridor. 

"Fancy, that," Azazel said, pointing his tail toward the glass wall of the elevators attached to the edge of the building like giant translucent straws.

Personally Charles thought it was a terrifying way to travel. He always closed his eyes whenever he had to use the elevators, standing as far from the walls as he could and trying not to think about the void under his feet. The speed of the pneumatic tubes gave the impression of zero-G, like on the Orb-stations, and made Charles's stomach lurch.

Raven leaned back casually against the glass, as usual not affected by the speed nor the height. The door opened with a pleasant ping and they marched into the vast circle of the lobby. 

"Good morning, Mr. Xavier," the central screen greeted them, switching to an image of a picturesque waterfall surrounded by a deep green forest.

"No ads, huh?" Azazel asked. Charles didn't normally notice, but he knew that usually screens would display commercial material, not personalized zen-style creations.

"I told you, my brother is stinking rich." Raven laughed.

"You know your money is waiting for you untouched," Charles said. He still couldn't come to terms with Raven's refusal to use her share of the trust fund left for them by Charles's father. 

"And you know I don't want to have anything to do with it. It's camp money."

Charles shook his head, but there was no point trying to convince Raven that not every experiment undertaken in the post-Crash refugee camps had been morally wrong.

They reached the exit of Charles's building and Charles wrapped his sweater around himself, pulling the hood over his too-long-curls against the onslaught of the everlasting light drizzle of gray rain. Outside it was warm despite the rain, and the streets were busy with their usual flow of people, H-cars, and electric bicycles. They crossed the street. Charles ducked instinctively under a floating 3D-lightboard advertisement and earned an amused look from Raven, who just walked through the light, changing her own skin into a matching pattern to blend into the ad. If Charles hadn't been so opposed to Raven's alterations, he'd have maybe said it was pretty cool and impressive. As it was, he pretended not to notice Raven's little show.

They walked on, heading toward a communal multifloored parking garage. Charles blinked twice to turn on the Infospace display on his glasses so he'd be aware of exactly where they were going, but it proved to be pointless; once they'd mounted a small, private steel gray H-car, they moved so fast through the streets, tunnels, and overpasses it was impossible to keep track of their surroundings.

Raven grinned upon seeing Charles gripping the edges of his seat on an especially close turn, and she leaned over to whisper in his ear, "He’s a good driver, huh? Faster than a tube-train I dare say. That's why we say Azazel can teleport."

***

The drive through the streets took maybe twenty minutes, during which Charles managed to calm down somewhat and rethink his options. He was pretty sure he was being taken to the Hive, most likely to the Brotherhood headquarters, which meant he wouldn't be able to just walk out of this saying, "Sorry, folks, it's been nice, but no thanks." If they let him online, he could maybe trick them and find a way out, but only provided the Brotherhood technicians had a full immersion deck like Charles’s own. He seriously doubted it. His Infospace set was a custom design, prepared for him by Moira’s CIA specialists. That he’d been allowed to keep it after leaving his job… well, he considered it a farewell gift from Moira.

The important thing was if the Brotherhood wanted him to fully immerse in Infospace, they'd have to either retrieve his set or allow him to go back home to use it. He hoped for the latter.

They stopped at a makeshift garage under the Hive and Azazel ushered them into a passage behind the nearest building. It smelled heavily of Asian spices and fried oil, and Charles's stomach flipped both from hunger and nausea. In the shock of meeting Azazel he’d forgotten to eat breakfast. Again. He had more pressing matters on his mind than breakfast, though.

They kept going, passing body enhancement and tattoo shops, hardware stores, betting parlors, and love motels. Charles was grateful for his tinted glasses, as the accumulation of low quality, brash floating ads here was insane—layer over layer of images, making everything look too colorful, distorted and unreal. The aural attack of various ditties and announcements only added to the chaos. How Azazel and Raven remembered their way through this maze was beyond him. They’d already made more turns than he could count.

When they’d reached the first ladder, Charles hesitated. He really wasn’t fond of heights. Raven started to climb, fast and efficient, graceful as usual, like an acrobat or ballet dancer. Azazel nudged him to go next, and Charles gripped the bars, hoisting himself up. The first platform was occupied by a cantina, busy and loud, full of people with various enhancements and implants from what Charles managed to notice. They made their way to the back of it only to find yet another ladder. After the fourth platform, Charles stopped counting—he just climbed and climbed and hoped he wouldn’t fall.

He half expected to be led to the roof of the world, but Raven turned and ducked under a Plexiglas flap. He followed her, blinded by darkness for a moment. They were passing through a living area, where people cooked or sat on the floor watching TV, babies cried, and couples fucked by the wall. Then the passage narrowed, giving way to a storage space full of abandoned hardware. Finally, they reached a closed steel door with a code-lock. Raven punched in a bunch of numbers and the door slid silently to the side. They stepped inside a small corridor and waited for the door to slide back shut. Then they were scanned by the built-in automatic security system, and another door slid open in front of them.

Charles stepped forward into a huge industrial space, brightly lit and full of people working on laptops or Infospace platforms. Others were going about their business, walking fast, carrying various packages and bending over tables with disassembled hardware.

Charles stood, perplexed at how something this big could have been hidden behind the narrow passages of the outer city.

“Welcome to the heart of the Hive,” Raven said.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

 

Charles couldn’t believe headquarters this extensive, high-tech and well organized could exist right under the government’s nose, in the very center of the city. Then again, no one nowadays would risk snooping around the Hive’s structures, and he had to admit this place was concealed pretty well. Still, this area was the size of a few office floors joined together, and he suspected this wasn’t the only building occupied by the Brotherhood.

He looked back, searching for Azazel, but the guy had vanished into thin air, leaving Charles alone with Raven, who was heading toward the furthest end of the open space, where the the wall was lined with gray glass panels. She nodded in greeting to a few people on her way, while Charles picked up his pace so as not to get left behind in a room full of strangers, most of whom had elaborate body enhancements that Charles was sure were for functional, rather than aesthetic, reasons. Raven tapped on the glass, bringing up a code-pad that appeared directly on the glass. She pressed her hand to the pad, and one of the panels popped open and then slid to the side without a sound. They walked through a narrow, shiny corridor and through yet another metal code-locked door which opened again to Raven’s touch.

Charles almost gasped at the sight behind the door. They’d entered a large well-lit room that looked like one of the CIA research centers Charles was familiar with, only way more sophisticated, like the combination of a private clinic and a government lab. There was science equipment here Charles had only ever read about. On the left he could see a medical bed with a dynamic MRI scanner and other machines he didn’t know, surrounded by a set of monitors and a huge control center occupied by a man with his back turned to them. On Charles’s right was a chill out area with white synthetic leather couches and a streamlined white coffee table surrounded by sculpted metal chairs. A slim marble countertop by the couch held an elaborate coffee maker. All this was decorated with real-looking green plants in huge metal vases standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Nothing outside was visible, though, through the dimmed glass.

What really got Charles’s attention was the raised dais in the center of the space, where the most elaborate Infospace immersion set Charles had ever seen was standing, complete with a high automatic chair, anti-clog pressure pads, and an immersion helmet hanging from a pneumatic crane.

“Fucking hell,” he wanted to say. So the Brotherhood not only had a set, it was _premium_ —maybe even better than Charles’s own custom-made one. So much for his hope to go home, but he didn’t care anymore—his fingers itched to touch this beautiful set. He could already imagine what it would feel like to plunge into Infospace through this. God, it would be like an orgasm. Better. He laughed. That he wanted to try it out was a given.

“Yo, Hank!” Raven shouted to the sitting man. He startled and turned from the displays. He was young, with neat hair and thick, black-rimmed Infospace glasses perched on an elegant nose.

He jumped to his feet and rushed toward them, nearly tripping over his chair. “Raven! Hello. Um. Good morning. Afternoon. I thought you were supposed to be here later.”

Raven shrugged. “It is later. You know how Azazel drives.”

Charles could see the faint stream of data flowing on the edges of the lenses as the man eyed them warily. “I'm Dr. Hank McCoy. It's an honor to meet you personally, Professor.”

McCoy's nervous smile seemed genuine, not mocking, so Charles shook the hand extended toward him and even attempted a smile. He used to be so good at it—being charming and jovial in social situations. What had happened to him? Raven was right. He had to get a grip on himself. Perhaps not interacting with people outside of Infospace had left him a bit rusty. Or maybe he really had fried his brain without even noticing.

“Charles Xavier, and please, I'm no longer a professor.”

“No, no. Your research on the impact of radiation treatment on genes and the psychological aspects of the treatment is exceptional! I myself did a little bit of fieldwork inspired by your findings. Would you mind me asking you some questions about that latest paper you published in the New Science Journal?”

God, it felt like eons since Charles had last been asked about anything related to his profession. He wasn't even sure he could recall all of his own writing—his data and conclusions. So many aspects of his life were lost, gone: the university, Moira, his youth. He knew he wasn't chronologically old, especially not with Asian labs offering almost everlasting life to those with money, but he felt aged, worn out and hopeless. 

The lack of his answer must have given a wrong impression to McCoy, who dropped his gaze, clearly embarrassed, and said, “Right. You must be tired of questions and people wanting to discuss their theories with you. Right, if you could follow me, please. I believe Raven told you about the nature of the tests we're going to need to run in order to adjust the immersion set for you?"

Raven had done no such thing, but Charles knew more or less what to expect. Just in case, though—after all he neither knew nor trusted McCoy or any other Brotherhood member, Raven included—he decided it would be prudent to ask.

"Could you, perhaps, go through it once again, please? Raven's way of explaining is..." He waved his hand, trying to convey "irrational" and "idiotic" and "non-existent" all at once. This earned him a huff from Raven, who marched over to a couch and sat down with her feet up on the seating. She grabbed a pair of data glasses from the coffee table and put them on, leaving Charles to McCoy.

McCoy emitted another nervous chuckle and led Charles to an examination bed.

“If you could take a seat, please. We’ll need a dynamic MRI scan and a General Body Condition scan so we can assess the amount of time you can safely spend fully immersed in Infospace. We’ll also need an exact 3-D model of your socket. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply… but Raven said you’d had one installed, and…”

McCoy’s stammering over words didn’t make the process of explaining easy, but Charles had been through scans and tests numerous times before, so he wasn’t worried. He’d even performed some of these same scans on his university students. He was more concerned with the results and whatever the Brotherhood wanted from him. But that could wait for later. For now, he could cooperate.

He lay down on the examination bed and looked up at all the equipment hanging from crisscrossed metal beams on the ceiling. There was a swoosh of the glass door, and a dark-haired middle-aged woman in scrubs came in.

“This is nurse Anne Ghazikhanian,” McCoy said, not looking up from whatever he was setting up in the control panel for Charles. “She’ll help with the tests.”

“Hello. You can call me Annie. I’m going to put in an IV now. Would you like me to explain the procedure?”

Charles shook his head no and extended his hand. The nurse had a warm smile that he focused on when she wiped his arm and pressed a needle to his vein, first drawing a few tubes of his blood and marking them with an electronic pen, then hooking him to an infusion pump with contrast dye for the scans. As they waited for the liquid to circulate, McCoy examined the socket, making Charles hiss and scowl when he scraped over it with something metallic.

“Sorry, sorry,” McCoy said, eyeing the display panel and jotting down something on a small tablet that he pulled from one of the many pockets of his lab coat.

Charles was grateful he hadn’t had breakfast after all, because whatever they were pumping inside him made his stomach queasy. He breathed in deeply, fighting the urge to hurl, and swallowed over the sweet taste in his mouth.

“You okay there, darling?” the nurse asked, checking on the pump.

He swallowed again. “Yes.”

“Almost done.” She smiled at him, wrapped his wrists in monitoring tape, and activated the scanner. Charles closed his eyes when it started to hum and rattle around him.

***

Something warm and gentle brushed against his thoughts like a caress, a presence of another sentient being. _Impossible_ , he thought. Not without him being plugged in. Without full immersion, with just standard devices like I-glasses or a smart-bracelet, he could browse through the data, of course, and travel around Infospace, design it or even recode it, but he couldn’t _feel_ it, not like he did when he was hooked in. However, he could swear he heard a soft "Welcome, Charles," followed by a phantom image of a red-haired young girl. Jesus, he hoped he wasn't going insane.

He tried to relax, as much as was possible with the noise of the scanner and the feeling of being trapped. The scans took longer than he expected, and he must have dozed off, because when he came to, the scanning procedures were over and McCoy and Raven were talking in angry, hushed tones above him.

“No, Hank. If he’s really in such bad shape, he needs to be wiped totally,” Raven insisted.

“We can’t do a Total Body Wipe here. I’m a researcher, not a physicist.”

Through half-lidded eyes Charles could see Raven reach out and flip McCoy’s identity card. “It says here you’re a _doctor_.”

McCoy shook his head. “That kind of procedure should be performed in a clinic that specializes in full body wipes. He’d need to be kept in a strictly restricted environment. And, more importantly, he needs to have his socket either removed or readjusted. But Raven—this is brain surgery you’re talking about. Even with Jean’s help we can’t take this kind of risk. The equipment might be good enough but… I just don’t have the skills for this.”

“Fine,” Raven said. “What _can_ you do, then?”

“I can give him a standard blood-clearing wipe, pump him with nutrients, and inject him with a slow-release painkilling implant. But if he’s been using the way you say he does, the implant might not work, and he might also need… er, well… you know. Something like a rehab program. Something to strengthen him up until he’d be fit to immerse fully into Infospace again.”

Charles felt his cheeks heating. The embarrassment of being someone who needed special care, of being talked about as if he wasn't even there or as if he were a child unable to make his own decisions... Fuck them all. He was _not_ an addict. He didn’t use painkillers for fun. He'd like to see any of them deal with the kind of pain he'd been dealing with ever since the CIA technicians installed the socket in his head.

He unhooked the tapes, slid off the bed, and stood up, aiming for some dignity and startling both Raven and McCoy in the process. He needed to get out of here.

"Would you please get me back home? I don't have time for this." 

And he was speaking the truth. He'd wasted enough time as it was. He needed something to eat or a nutrition supplement, a few new pain patches, and then he could head back into Infospace to examine the ice wall more closely. Whatever was hidden behind it must be important.

He glanced with regret at the amazing Infospace set the Brotherhood had built. He could bet it would give him the means to be so much more efficient in the net. He could probably navigate that ice wall. But to hell with it all, he was not going to let them manipulate him.

“Charles, be reasonable," Raven said angrily, and then turned to McCoy, muttering something not audible to Charles. 

He had to close his eyes and grit his teeth for a moment to keep from lashing out. He hated, _hated_ , to be patronized like that.

“Okay. Okay,” McCoy said to Raven. “Professor, take a look at your scans yourself.”

Charles went, reluctantly, toward the displays to examine his data.

Fuck. Oh god, fuck everything. He didn’t need to read the diagnosis to know what McCoy had meant for him to see. He ignored the red flashing numbers suggesting anemia and nutritional deficiencies, and instead locked eyes on the dynamic MRI scan.

He looked at the area next to his implant that seemed to be infected, swollen. His heart was beating fast in his chest and his palms started to sweat, because this—this was bad.

McCoy cleared his throat. “Professor.” He paused as if shying away from discussing the matter with someone who could actually understand the data in front of his eyes. “I’m not an implant specialist, but I’d recommend removing the socket completely, or at least readjusting it. This area of inflammation—”

“Removing it is not an option,” Charles snapped. It’d mean the end of full immersion, the end of feeling the data flow, the end of feeling the touch of billions of other minds. If he removed the socket, he’d forever lose the ability to communicate with AIs. He’d rather suffer pain till the end of his days than lose the sole essence of his life. However, brain damage wasn’t an option either. If the damage was permanent, he was a dead man already. “Can you readjust it?”

“I’m sorry, but…” McCoy blinked and licked his lips nervously. Did he think Charles was about to rip him a new one for being the bearer of bad news? “We don’t have a skilled enough team to perform the procedure safely here.”

Charles went back to the bed to sit down. If he didn’t fix the socket, he’d soon be unable to connect to Infospace anyway. Once the Brotherhood knew he was useless for their goals, they’d probably dispose of him. He took a deep breath, and then another, shakier one. He always marveled how quickly the panic could surge up.

“What do you suggest, then?” He hoped he didn’t sound too hysterical.

“For now, a basic blood wipe. Nutritional supplements. And avoid using the socket at all costs until it’s repositioned in a clinic that specializes in nano-surgery. Then wait until it’s healed enough to handle transmitting data and impulses without causing further injury.”

Charles frowned. “I need to work.”

“Professor, I don’t think you understand the danger of using the socket in its current state.” Charles did, in fact, but somehow he refused to acknowledge it. Surely he could still work if he’d managed to go on like this, for so long? He could at least finish this job—whatever it was—for the Brotherhood, and then take a long break, go to a good clinic, perhaps even take a few weeks’ vacation on an Orb-station.

McCoy kept talking. “How is it possible you didn’t know about the problem? I assume you’ve had your quarterly checkups?” And yes, maybe Charles had missed the last one, or the two before that? He wasn’t sure. “Frankly, I’m quite surprised headaches are the only side effect showing up by now. You can expect seizures, mood changes, memory loss, paralysis...”

“Don’t be an idiot, Charles.” Raven, who’d been listening silently up to this point, moved to put a hand on Charles’s shoulder. He looked up at her, feeling a bit cornered with her towering over him like this, all blue, skin gleaming with her favorite holo-projection of an azure goddess covered in reptilian scales.

Perhaps he was an idiot, but there were some things he couldn’t give up. “No,” he said. He struggled to stand up, pushing on Raven who pressed him down as if keeping him physically restrained could prevent him from working. “Raven. Let. Me. Go!”

“What’s going on in here?” There was a click of the glass panel as a man entered the room, and Raven paused as if frozen.

“Erik, this is my brother Charles, and he—”

“—is leaving,” Charles finished for her as he scrambled to stand up again, breathing hard and feeling disheveled and sick. He attempted to straighten up his clothes and hair, and he moved to pass Raven and Magneto.

“Charles—” Raven fell silent at the sight of Magneto’s raised hand.

Up close Magneto looked different than on the news. Charles expected him to be… bigger maybe. Stormy and intimidating. He’d expected Magneto to be huge, bulky and grim, but the man was on the lean side, graceful and elegant in his black turtleneck and slim dark jeans. He looked surprisingly _normal._

“We’re not planning on doing you any harm as long as you remain a guest of the Brotherhood,” Magneto said coolly.

Charles had no idea if that was yet another psychological ploy to make him more pliant and cooperative, or if it was meant sincerely. “Thank you,” he said, looking right into Magneto’s eyes. They were grey-blue and oddly pretty, Charles thought, chastising himself a second later for even noticing that. Still, he couldn’t help but stare at Magneto’s carefully schooled expression and his neat appearance, and marvel at the world that would make someone so dangerous look so handsome.

“Erik Lehnsherr,” Magneto said, extending his hand, and despite his reservations, Charles shook it. It was warm and dry, but the contact left Charles’s skin tingling, as if he’d touched something with electric current. He startled when he took a closer at Magneto’s hand—the palm was crisscrossed with dark rivers of circuits, as if he were an android with wiring on display. It was rude to stare, though, so Charles made an effort to look away.

“Charles Xavier.”

“What’s the situation, then?” Magneto asked.

“I can agree to the basic blood-wipe and nutrients, but not to the break from immersion in Infospace,” Charles said before he realized the question wasn’t directed at him.

Magneto approached the scans. While McCoy was decoding the information—stammering even more than before—Charles tried to think and decide what he really wanted. He felt a bit dizzy and unreal, not in the right frame of mind to make any life-altering choices. The headache was slowly building, and now that he knew the cause of it, he was even more aware of the ache, feeling it right in the core of his head. He could feel the swollen tissue pulsing in his cerebellum, even if that was just autosuggestion.

Before he came up with any conclusions, Magneto’s focus was back on him. There was something about that lithe, serious man that made Charles breathless, but now wasn’t the time to explore his sudden, inappropriate attraction.

“So I see you won’t be able to help us, after all.” Although the words were said in a harsh tone, Magneto didn’t look dismissive or condescending. He was staring at Charles, assessing him, his gaze serious and perceptive, making all the hair on Charles’s body stand on end. He addressed Hank again. “Are you positive we have no means of adjusting the socket?”

"No, sir.” McCoy shot a quick glance at Magneto. “Unless… _Y_ _ou_ could—”

"Absolutely not," Magneto said, and Charles wondered what piece of conversation he was missing. He’d give a lot right now to read minds _outside_ the Infospace environment.

“Do you think it's possible?” Raven asked. “Erik, can you reposition it without surgery?"

"Absolutely not!" Charles shouted, because he would not entrust his brain and sanity to a man who was neither a surgeon nor a scientist. A man who didn’t know the topography of a human brain like the back of his hand.

Magneto looked at him and then his lips curved and twitched, and before Charles knew it everyone had burst out into laughter. Even though it felt a bit hysterical to Charles, the ability to feel amused with other people around was a long-forgotten thing, and it left him a bit winded and lightheaded. 

“Good to know we are on the same page, then,” Magneto said. His smile was somewhat blinding, showing two rows of very white teeth.

"Seriously, though," Raven said. "Erik?"

Magneto came over to the display to look at the scans again. “Hank, explain what needs to be done, but no anatomy or medical terms."

McCoy paused, probably translating all the things he wanted to say into plain English.

"Here." He pointed to the left of the image of the implanted device. "Here's the bruising where the socket’s pressing too hard on the tissue. Here. If it were positioned correctly, this part"—he pointed to the curved part of the implanted socket—“wouldn't look different than this one. What we’d need is to remold the outer left part, curve it inward a bit, like this”—he pressed a finger to the edge of the image—“and then move it a little bit until it fit nicely, here.”

“How large is the model? Can you show it to me in a 1:1 scale?”

McCoy tapped a key on the control panel, zooming out the enhanced image, and Magneto examined it for a long time.

The room was totally quiet, everyone holding their breath; Charles certainly was holding his. He wanted to shout again that he wouldn’t allow them to touch his head, but if the rumors were true, Magneto's abilities to manipulate metal were vast—both with huge constructions like the bridge over the bay and with small ones like nanochips. And perhaps, _perhaps_ he really could help.

Finally, Magneto turned around from where he was focused on the scans and nodded. “Yes. I believe I can do it. The question is, Professor Xavier, would you trust me enough to let me try?”

Charles still wasn’t sure it wasn’t just a mind game. Had the scans been manipulated so Magneto could come in and “save” him? But if the scans were real… He thought he could tell if they had been forged. And he’d seen the damage. He knew exactly what needed to be done, and what not adjusting the socket could mean for him—for his work, life, and sanity. And if letting Magneto try the readjustment could spare Charles another risky surgery and weeks—maybe months—of rehabilitation, of being out of work… Well, perhaps it was worth a shot.

“Okay,” he said, looking up into Magneto’s eyes, searching for signs of betrayal. “Okay. Let's do this.”

Something flickered through Magneto's features—surprise and some other emotion Charles couldn't pinpoint. He inhaled, still focused on Charles, and then nodded to McCoy to proceed.

“What? Right now?” McCoy looked panicked.

“Do we need more preparations?” Magneto asked.

“No, not really. Right. Just let me...” McCoy started to move around the room, switching on various panels. “Although we’ll need to put him on a fast-absorbing nutritional supplement first so he’ll be stable enough during the whole procedure. Professor, would you like to be sedated? I'd rather you weren't, given your current state, and so we can communicate. But if you feel you need it we can give you a tranquilizer. We'll need to fully immobilize you as well.”

Charles knew it all; he'd been through this before. “No sedatives. Although a glass of Scotch would be nice, though, to help me relax.” He grinned.

Judging by the horror in McCoy’s eyes, for a moment he must have believed Charles, but then he smiled, too. "Raven, can you call for Annie again?”

Charles reached for the Velcro strips that had been monitoring his vitals and wrapped them back around his wrists. Soon the same nurse from before came in, and after a rapid briefing from McCoy she grabbed various bags and vials of liquid from the shelves behind the control console and prepared a whole arsenal of drips for Charles, including one bright crimson one.

“You might feel dizzy at first. This is a fast release nutrient with additional healing properties. But in a couple of hours you’ll be as good as new. We call it Archangel’s Blood.”

She stood next to monitors then, assisting McCoy.

“Let's begin. Erik, are you ready?” McCoy asked, furiously hitting keys on his control panel, setting up the live scanning procedure.

Magneto nodded, and Charles climbed back onto the bed, lying down on his stomach and placing his face in a niche at the end of the table. He gripped the edges of the metal frame, and when McCoy approached him he startled at the cold of the metal crown being attached to his head to keep him from moving. He felt panic welling up again in his chest—the instinctive animal fear of being trapped and out of control. God, panic was so close to the surface these days, he thought with disgust.

“You’re sure you don't want anything to ease this a bit?” McCoy asked.

“Just give me a second," Charles said, focusing on his breathing: in, out, in—hold it—out again. “Okay,” he said when he felt a bit steadier. “Hit me.”

He lay on his stomach with his eyes open, watching the lab's almost immaculate white floor underneath him and trying not to listen to the whirling and beeping of the machinery, with the scanning and X-ray 3-D display over him and McCoy giving details to Magneto somewhere above his head.

He felt pressure on his skull but distantly, as if someone had placed a hand at the base of his neck. Then, for a long, long time there was nothing but the hushed sound of Magneto breathing softly. He stood so close, Charles could feel his body heat.

The pressure in Charles’s head increased, bit by bit. Jesus, this slow process was torture, like when he got his socket implanted the first time.

At last, when Charles thought he wouldn’t be able to stand the waiting anymore, there was the sensation of metal scraping his insides, heating up, and something popping, like a joint in a broken knee. His stomach lurched and he felt faint; hot sweat beaded uncomfortably on his skin. He was going to throw up. He was going to die. He had to escape. This had all been such a bad, bad idea.

And then there came a sudden, incredible relief, the absence of pressure and Charles floating through space, flying high, until there was a cool touch on his nape, grounding him, and a slightly strained voice at his ear telling him, “Done.” Then a breathy, almost intimate, “Did I break your brain?”

If it was an attempt at humor it failed, because as soon as the immobilizing crown was off and Charles managed to turn his head, he could see that Magneto looked slightly gray, and beads of sweat had formed on his temples, too.

Charles tried to get up but his limbs betrayed him—his hands were too slippery with sweat to give him any kind of traction and his legs shook too much for him to move.

“If you could please lie still for a while longer, Professor, until we can complete the aftertest,” Hank said, and Charles obliged, gratefully laying his cheek on the cold surface of the table. The headache seemed to have lessened a bit. But his stomach was so unsettled. He tried to breathe through his nose and calm down while the conversation in the room proceeded. He hated feeling dependent and helpless, but he was too tired to care anymore.

“All clear,” said Hank. “You didn’t _break his brain_ , Erik.”

“Small mercies.” That was Magneto, farther away than before.

“He won’t stay out of Infospace for a few _weeks_ though, Hank.” Raven was arguing, but Charles wasn’t sure what the conversation was about anymore. He was scrambling for consciousness, unable to focus on anything. “There’s no way; I know him. Not unless we tie him up or sedate him, or lock him up in a dungeon.”

“He can tag along with me on my way to Logan. No Infospace there.” Magneto’s voice was a comfort, like a warm bath on a cold day. Soothing.

“You want to take a vacation with my brother?” Raven asked. “That’s… sweet."

“Fuck off, Raven," Magneto said, brushing past her as he strode toward the door.

“Aw, Erik, don't be like that!” she yelled after him. “I promise I'm not jealous and you have my blessing!”

But Magneto was already leaving. “Make sure he’s fit enough tomorrow morning for the trip.” The glass door closed with a swoosh.

Charles wasn’t sure the conversation was even real. He was drifting, warm and blissful, and didn’t even flinch when the nurse helped turn him on his back and hooked him up to a bunch of new IVs. The monitors were beeping steadily, and Charles let the steady sound pull him under to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

 

Charles woke up in what must have been the middle of the night. He was alone. The soft whir of medical machinery was both soothing and annoying, like the sound of fake ocean waves. The examination bed was unbearably uncomfortable—hard and cold—and Charles felt stiff and freezing after all the cold liquids they’d squeezed into his veins. Pulling himself up took some effort. His head was heavy and aching, and his limbs weren’t responding properly, so it felt like he was trying to push himself through dense water.

His throat was dry. In the dim light he searched for a bottle of water. There was none, though, so he had to settle for a stale square of mint chewing gum he pulled from his jeans’ pocket. He felt so cold that his teeth were clattering—probably a side effect of all the fluids they’d pumped into him. And he needed to piss. Urgently.

_Dear Lord,_ Charles thought, _please let there be a bathroom somewhere nearby._ He unwrapped all the wires and tape he’d been covered in, unhooked the IV, and slid down the bed. He padded to the glass wall and tapped on it, feeling for the lock. Finally, he managed to find the door. It slid open silently, revealing a softly lit corridor beyond. He walked on, keeping his hand on the wall for balance, and—small mercies—there was an actual toilet situated at the end of the hall. He didn’t turn on the light in the bathroom; the floors were lit up by emergency floodlights anyway, and he didn’t want to be blinded by harsh overhead halogens.

After he was done he returned to the lab and curled up on a couch, still shivering and dreaming of a blanket. He hugged his arms around himself and tried to drift into sleep again, gritting his teeth against the chill and the resurging headache. It was an impossible task, though. His breathing felt too shallow and his muscles ached so much he had to change position every few seconds. He knew he should feel better after all the IVs, but he was still tired and nauseated. He could only lie there and wish morning would come quickly so someone would come and get him.

He was woken up after what felt like just ten minutes of sleep by Raven. She was all blue again.

“Charles?” She poked him in the arm. “How do you feel?”

He opened and eye. “I’m fine,” he said, sounding rough.

“I’ve brought some of your things. Couldn’t find your beige cardigan so there’s the university sweatshirt instead. You didn’t have toothpaste. Or shampoo. Shit, Charles, when’s the last time you went shopping?”

She dumped his packed duffel bag next to the couch. “You want coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

Raven walked out of the room, and before Charles could get up and attempt to straighten the mess his hair was after the chip readjustment and then the night on the couch, she was back with a thermo-mug in her hand.

He took a swig and winced. The coffee—because of course Raven would ignore his tea request—was horribly hot and burned his tongue. Still, it was _wet_ , and it was sweetened, so he didn’t complain.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked when he was steadier and sitting upright on the couch like a decent human being.

“Erik has to go to Germany for a meeting. He wants you to go with him.”

“What, the old Germany?” He felt a thrill of excitement. He’d always wanted to see that part of the world, which was no longer accessible to ordinary citizens.

“Yes.” Raven smiled. “I knew you’d be interested.”

Charles took another sip of the coffee, trying to swallow without tasting the beverage too deeply. “Interested in tagging along on an illegal trip with a mad terrorist? Sure.”

Raven sighed and sat next to Charles on the couch. She wrapped one hand around his back and tugged him in. “Erik’s not crazy. He’s… It’s just for a couple of weeks. It won’t be that bad.”

Charles wanted to beg to differ, but Raven gave him another hard squeeze and got up. “So, may I send in Hank and Annie for the final round of tests?”

The idea of more probing and prodding made Charles wince. “Is there a shower here?” If he could at least feel more human while being treated like a lab rat, he’d take it.

***

Later, when he was fresh and clean, examined again and stuffed with bunch of antibiotics, painkillers, and a bit more “Archangel’s Blood,” Charles stood in the lab with his bag lying at his feet, getting last minute advice from McCoy.

“No immersion, eat well, and stick to your regular dose of S-patches—these ones—otherwise you’ll be exposed to some serious withdrawal symptoms. Don’t skip a dose and don’t go up on it either. Can I trust you with this? We’ve cleaned you up as much as we could, and the Archangel’s Blood should help too, but you're not 100 percent yet. You’ll still most probably experience some nausea and…”

Charles waved his hand—he really could do this research about the S-patches and possible symptoms himself, as soon as he could get ahold of any device with an Infospace connection. Speaking of which, he couldn’t locate his glasses.

“Do you know where my I-glasses are?”

Hank looked at his feet. “We thought it best if you have a total break from any kind of Infospace device.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious!” Charles was really angry now. It was one thing to treat him like a drug addict—which he wasn’t—but a totally different thing to restrict his access to communication and basic information. “Give me back my glasses!”

“You won’t need them where we’re going. No network.” Magneto entered the room. Once again he was wearing black jeans and a dark turtleneck, but on top of that he had a brown leather jacket. He also had thin leather gloves and high black boots with Kevlar soles and metal brackets. All of that created a look suitable for a love-motel D/s fantasy, and Charles wasn’t sure if it made him more amused or aroused.

“I understand that there’s no reception in Europe,” Charles said slowly, trying to sound polite and not indignant. He thought maybe he could still get a satellite connection there. Money could clear hurdles, and money wasn’t really an issue. “But since we’re still here, I’d like to make some calls and arrangements before we go. I have a life, you know?” Although, when he considered it, he didn’t. Not really. He didn’t have anyone he was responsible for, not since Raven turned eighteen, and not since he’d lost his students. He didn’t have anyone he’d have to respond to, either. No arrangements were in fact necessary. He didn’t know how he felt about it.

“Never mind,” he said. “We can go.”

He said his goodbyes to both Raven and McCoy and followed Magneto through the sliding door at the back of the lab and then through a bunch of corridors, dark and dingy, leading to—thank God Almighty—an old, rattling elevator. At least he didn’t need to climb down all the ladders. He felt maybe a bit stronger now, but that wasn’t an activity he’d choose for himself right after an almost-brain-surgery and a sleepless half night spent on a cold couch. Magneto didn’t push any buttons in the elevator, but the cage moved and started a slow descent. They exited at the bottom of a huge building through a small metal door with a service sign painted on in faded black letters. It was raining outside. Magneto handed his huge, old-fashioned black umbrella to Charles—obviously not caring if he himself got wet—and Charles crossed the street after him, heading toward the nearest subway station.

This would be a good moment to ditch, Charles thought. It was only him and Magneto—he wouldn’t chase after Charles, would he? But that would mean no Europe, no possibility of getting back to the Brotherhood headquarters to try out the immersion set, and no help figuring out what was behind the ice wall. And Charles ached to be back in Infospace. He missed being free, out of his body, swimming among the data and connected with other minds. He missed the tangled and chaotic thoughts of users going in and out and the clear and brilliantly perfect streams of logical patterns coming from the AIs. He hadn’t even had a chance to connect with the Brotherhood’s mysterious new AI. So for now, he’d have to play the part and be pliant and cooperative. He sighed and picked up the pace so he wouldn’t stay too far behind Magneto, who was walking fast with his shoulders hunched against the rain.

They entered the subway station. It was impossibly crowded. The air was dense with the pungent perfume of hundreds of bodies and humid clothes. Charles tried not to lose sight of Magneto as he was jostled by the crowd, but it was a hard task. He didn’t enjoy being crammed against other people like this. This was suffocating. His short height was a disadvantage too as he tried to keep his eyes on Magneto’s lithe form. Another person pushed against Charles—a person who looked very much like a huge lizard with yellow eyes and green skin— and Charles felt panic swell up in his chest.

He’d lost sight of Magneto, but the train was approaching the station and the crowd pushed harder than before. Finding him would be hopeless. Charles was suddenly on the edge of the platform, cornered and crushed and very, very alone. There was no air to breathe. He pushed back against the flow of people, aiming to get away and out of the station. People behind him hissed angrily and an elbow pushed into his stomach painfully. He really had to breathe. He had to get away. Just when he considered throwing himself to the ground, folding into a ball, and waiting it all out, a gloved hand took a hard hold of his shoulder and pulled. And then he was in the train, the door closing with a ding and a computer generated voice announcing about the next station. Charles found himself plastered closely to Magneto’s chest with his face next to the man’s neck, breathing in his scent. Magneto didn’t ask any questions, as if he hadn’t noticed Charles’s earlier disorientation at the station. But when the train shook and slowed down only to pick up the pace again roughly, he steadied Charles with a firm grip around his waist. Charles couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to lean closer toward this strong body for a moment of thoughtless bliss.

Magneto smelled nice. Warm and manly, but also fresh, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower instead of a crowded subway station. Charles opened his mouth and breathed in, focusing on the tingling arousal brought by the scent. He shouldn’t, but there was no harm in that, after all. He could indulge a bit. He couldn’t recall the last time he’s been so close to another human, Raven excluded. Not since Moira, for sure. Sex programs in Infospace offered a lot, but none of them were designed for full immersion, so for Charles they never felt real enough. The arm wrapped around him was delicious, though—strong and confident, and protective in a way that made Charles want to give in and do reckless things, like maybe tilt his head up a tiny bit and trace his lips along Magneto’s jawline.

Thank God, before he had a chance to act on his inappropriate impulses, they arrived at their station. Magneto’s hold on Charles was replaced by a firm push toward the platform, and any illusion of intimacy was erased. Charles walked obediently, more confident in finding his way through the flow of people now that he had Magneto at his back. He took the time to notice vendors selling food, Infospace devices, and anti-radiation kits. He briefly wondered if they should acquire one, but maybe Magneto had it covered. He wouldn’t trust a random kit to be effective anyway.

They went through customs. Whoever had tweaked Magneto’s online identity must have been good at it. Perhaps it had been that _Jean_ of theirs. Every single gate opened in front of them without fuss after scanning their retinas and greeting them in polite voice.

Charles swayed on the moving carpets leading to the transatlantic trains, and once again Magneto reached out to capture Charles’s elbow, stabilizing him. Charles wondered at the motivation behind it because Magneto surely didn’t look like a touchy-feely person, not the way Charles was, anyway. He appeared rather uptight after brief observation, but he also seemed to have that protective streak in him. Perhaps he was just keeping his “investment” undamaged, but Charles was an attention slut, so he couldn’t help but revel in the way Magneto kept looking out for him.

He looked at Magneto’s gloved hand. It wasn’t that cold today, so perhaps Magneto was hiding his microchips and wires—for protection or so not to be recognized too easily, or maybe to keep Charles from feeling the tingling sensation he experienced when in contact with the wires.

Magneto’s touch was gone as soon as they entered the next train, leaving Charles with a sudden, odd sense of loss. He combed his hair back to give his hands something to do and obediently stepped into the compartment.

Pneumatic trains called “Tubes” had taken over the role of planes few years before the collapse of Europe, and that had proved to be a huge blessing, since airspace was way too chaotic to control, and the European airports were still struggling to gather back enough equipment to ensure safe landings. Now the Tubes were used to commute between the States and New Britain; anything further than the island was closed off.

Charles touched the clear glass of the train’s window. The outer layer of the glass tube was just inches away. It still amazed him how something so delicate, not thicker than few fingers, could withstand the pressure of air and allow the trains to glide with incredible speed.

Magneto sat down on a seat next to Charles and buckled up.

***

Charles looked at his wrist, empty without the Infospace bracelet he usually wore when not hooked to the net itself or when not using his glasses. Not being able to check his messages was keeping him on edge, just as much as the constant fear that his headache was going to get worse over the next few hours. For now, he felt almost well, painless and light, but he didn’t expect this to last. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them again and started fiddling with his seat adjustments, which only earned him an annoyed glare from Magneto.

He sat back, fidgeting again, then touched the tender skin around the socket at the base of his skull, wondering if the whole ‘Infospace celibacy’ thing would really do him any good. Was it worth it to do all this? Perhaps not. Perhaps he’d only get worse from his enforced inactivity.

When he next caught himself checking his bare wrist again, he cursed. He had to stop this. He couldn’t shake that urge, though, the itchy feeling under his skin. It made him prickly and insecure, as if everyone, Magneto included, could see right through him. As if all his weaknesses were exposed. Instead of glancing at his wrist again, he repositioned himself so he sat with his palms half-tucked under his thighs.

All that wriggling resulted in Magneto glaring at him again. He had yet to vocalize his disapproval, though.

"You’re not much of a conversationalist, are you?" Charles asked without expecting an answer.

The speakers and displays above their heads announced departure, and soon the acceleration pushed Charles back in his seat. The trains were almost inaudible, and once they’d reached their designated speed it didn’t feel any different than traveling on a plane. Magneto took a small tablet out of his bag and tapped on it, paying no attention to Charles. Without any Infospace devices on him, Charles didn’t really know what to do with himself. He sighed and closed his eyes. Perhaps dozing off could help.

***

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the L-station. Charles had been able to nap on the train after all, but he felt even more tired after the nap. Semi-conscious, almost. The sweet taste of sleep lingered in his mouth, and he accepted the hot black coffee the stewardess offered with gratitude. Magneto, on the other hand, looked perfectly rested and full of perfectly controlled energy as he stepped out of the train, leading them to yet more underground stations. This commute was kind of never-ending, Charles thought. The cities had just grown too much, and it was nearly impossible to get out of one.

As Charles hopped from one train to yet another and then another, feeling more disconnected, bored and exhausted with each new change, his headache started to grow by the minute. He wasn’t surprised, because readjustment of the socket must have left some small injury, even if it had been done perfectly, and the effects of the drips were slowly fading away. He had tried to eat on the train but couldn’t really stomach the papery taste of highly processed chicken with rice. It was time maybe for one of the new patches, but he felt awkward sticking it on in public.

“One more stop,” Magneto said. His voice was warm, and he even briefly smiled at Charles. It was as if he’d read Charles’s thoughts. Sort of creepy, but also reassuring.

“Thank fuck.” Charles smiled, too.

***

Charles had to wait while Magneto went to find their car out of the city. They were at the outskirts already, and the area was poor and rundown. New Britain towns were all merged together into one huge metropolis, inhabited mostly by those who, for various reasons, weren’t able to flee from the continent after the disaster. The inhabitants of this particular zone were victims of the radiation—with visible post-exposure defects. Charles sat down on stairs leading to a small coffee shop that offered beverages, not-so-fresh sandwiches, and various kinds of electronic tobacco. He leaned back and deliberated if he should maybe get another coffee. He was feeling worse and worse. He wasn’t sure without the Infospace bracelet that could measure his vitals, but he thought he might be running a slight fever. He was cold but his cheeks were burning. He swallowed against the impending nausea.

“Charles?” He felt a touch on his shoulder and realized he must have lost his grip on reality again. He looked up at Magneto. “Come on.”

They climbed inside a very old dark-green Jeep. It smelled of dust, cheap plastic, and that ancient synthetic fabric of the twenty-first century, all of which made Charles even more nauseated. He buckled up a standard fabric belt and wriggled on his seat. The cushions were so worn out it was difficult to find a comfortable place to sit.

Magneto started the car and the engine groaned as if it were dying of asthma. But it worked. It was impressive to watch Magneto switch the manual gears without even touching them. The stick shift was changing positions as if a ghost were making it move. _Magic_ , Charles thought with amusement, while observing with growing disinterest the surroundings full of debris and trash.

It was dark when they reached the border. Charles felt increasingly sick and kept dozing on and off, so he was startled by the sudden blinding white light of the checkpoint. The gate area was huge and empty, but the scanning detectors came to life at their approach.

"Welcome to the NEU boarder," the checkpoint greeted them cheerfully while the bots were checking their retina data for identity confirmation. The screens beeped, and the transportation belt moved their car forward.

"You are entering the radiation zone," the checkpoint informed them in the same chipper tone. On the wall in front of them, the display screen showed the current pollution and radiation levels along with the data of other possible health hazards. The chipper voice cautioned them to proceed at their own risk and of their own volition.

“Not true,” Magneto said, lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper. “There’s no radiation anymore. It’s safe.”

The gate lights changed to green and the front gate opened. Magneto started the car again, and suddenly they were on the other side of the sterile checkpoint.

Charles drew his breath in. “Fucking hell.”

Magneto glanced at him. "Quite a change of scenery, isn't it?" His lips quirked in a half-smile.

On this side of the border the lights were scarce, and the smooth surface of the paved road ended about a mile from the checkpoint. Their car soon started to wobble and rattle on the uneven, cracked asphalt. Magneto switched on the headlights, and they drove until they reached yet another checkpoint. Here, instead of elegant white walls, there were honest-to-goodness barbwire rolls, and three very real men with real laser guns in their hands. Charles wasn't an expert, but he suspected that one of the guards—a huge bald black man with yellow eyes—was carrying a machine gun filled with real metal bullets.

Magneto stopped the car next to the man and said something in German. The man replied sharply. Charles couldn’t understand what they were talking about. Old European languages had given way to English and Cantonese, and although Charles had learned a few of the pre-Crash languages, he wasn’t fluent. He caught a few words, but the pronunciation was odd and the conversation was too fast for him to follow.

The man gestured to Charles with a frown.

“Get the lieutenant,” Magneto finally said in English, sounding exasperated. He leaned back on the seat, gripping the wheel so hard that Charles was surprised it didn’t snap under those long, elegant fingers.

The guard didn’t look happy, but he turned to shout something to his men and then strolled over to a shed hidden behind another roll of barbed wire.

They waited. Charles’s skin itched. His eyes itched too, but rubbing at them only made them more irritated.

Finally, there was movement, and a huge man stumbled toward them.

“Fuck me. Lehnsherr! You made it!” he said without an ounce of sympathy, munching on a cigar he kept unlit in the corner of his mouth.

“Logan,” Magneto said, nodding. “Your men won’t let me go into the Tunnel. I’ll come back as soon as I drop Charles off.”

The man leaned in and peeked inside. “Going on a honeymoon with your boy toy, are you, bub?” His grin still didn’t look friendly.

“You wish.” Magneto returned the grin, showing his teeth like a predator. Not for the first time Charles wondered if Magneto had done something to his teeth to make them appear more animalistic.

Charles turned his head to be seen better through the window. “Hello.” He flashed his most professional and charming smile, hoping he didn’t look as sick as he felt.

Logan took out his cigar to release an exasperated sigh. “Okay. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck if he’s your fuck toy or hostage or the next Prince of Persia. Go on.” He indicated the road ahead with a nod, then waved at the guards to make passage for the car.

Magneto placed the gear on one, again without touching the handle, and slowly rolled forward. “Thanks, Logan. I owe you one,” he shouted through the window.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off. Just be back in time for the mission.” The lieutenant didn’t even look their way.

“He seemed pleasant,” Charles said, and slumped back onto his seat.

Magneto just shot him a dirty look while he navigated toward the entrance to the Tunnel.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

5.

 

Everything hurt.

“Oh, Jesus, my legs,” Charles moaned, squirming to find a position in which the pain inside his muscles wouldn’t be so bad. He jerked after a second and repositioned once more. He wanted to cry. His wrists ached too. His stomach felt like it was on fire.

“I need a bathroom,” he said, surprised by the tone of his voice, too loud for his ears and yet raspy at the same time.

Magneto pulled over when the next niche in the Tunnel wall appeared in the headlights, and Charles all but fell out of the car, scraping his palms and knees in the process. He retched by the wall. He could only bless the relative peace in this part of the maintenance line of the old Eurotunnel that they were currently driving through; no one had seen him fall and puke. Well, no one but Magneto.

The exit of the Tunnel was coming up. They’d long ago left behind underground bazaars packed with vendors selling processed food and second-hand clothes. Old trains had been changed into caravans full of people, and traders tried to stop the car to exchange various goods. Magneto hadn’t slowed down, even when some of the bolder dealers got ahold of the door.

Charles knew that the Tunnel was inhabited on the sides once designed for trains, leaving the central part for those few with private cars to commute upon. He didn’t know that the Tunnels were so populated, though—almost like the Hive. The inhabitants here were mostly camp refugees, outlaws, and those who were too scared of radiation to leave the underground system.

This part of the Tunnel they were now in was closer to the Continent, and so fewer people were willing to linger here, treating it more like a giant waste area. It reeked of piss and garbage, and the smell didn’t do much to help Charles’s condition. He could only be thankful for the packets of tissues that had been stuffed in his pocket by some good soul. McCoy maybe. Maybe Raven.

His legs and hands shook when he got back into the car, collapsing on the seat with his face pressed to the window. He felt sweaty and cold, and as shivers started to wrack his body, he wished he could just cease to exist for a while.

“Here,” Magneto said, passing a bottle with suspiciously fluorescent blue liquid to Charles, who grabbed it and sipped a bit. It tasted vile—sweet and salty.

He winced and eyed the liquid with a groan. “What is it?"

“Electrolytes, vitamins, glucose.” Magneto answered without taking his eyes off the road. He had to navigate around piles of debris now.

Charles took another few gulps of the drink, hoping it would settle his stomach. Swallowing hurt, though, so he gave up and put the drink away. His muscles kept cramping and itching _inside_ and it was unbearable. He fidgeted again, tensing and relaxing, but nothing really provided him with any relief.

Magneto glanced at Charles’s squirming, and after witnessing yet another failed attempt to find a less painful position, he reached over and put his palm flat on Charles's thigh. He didn’t have his gloves on anymore, and in the darkness the circuits on his palms glowed a steady, deep red.

Charles startled, feeling his cheeks flush in whatever that was—embarrassment, or maybe surprise. He looked up at Magneto, who still kept his gaze on the road ahead.

“Hank forewarned me that despite the basic blood wipe and Archangel’s Blood, you might experience some mild withdrawal symptoms,” Magneto said.

“Mild?” Charles raised an eyebrow. If these were mild symptoms, he didn’t want to know what real drug addicts experienced.

“I’m sorry for your discomfort,” Magneto added as an afterthought.

Secretly Charles thought he deserved to feel miserable, but he wouldn't say it aloud. 

“Try drinking this for now.” He indicated the abandoned drink. “You’ll feel better.”

“What do you know about how this feels?” Charles asked, defensively. 

“ARS. Radiation,” Magneto said, his voice even. “When the plants blasted, we were living in Germany. I got a high dose of radiation. It’s like poison.”

Charles did a quick calculation in his head. “You must have been a kid then. How old were you?”

“Eleven. My parents didn't make it. My father died after the first day. For a while it seemed like my mother was getting better, but it was just a false improvement before the inevitable decline.”

“I'm sorry,” Charles said, and he meant it. No matter what Magneto had or hadn't done, no child deserved to lose parents, especially in such a horrid way. If Magneto was in the region of the cloud, he would have been exposed to high doses of radiation. It would have been horrible.

“You must have been hit with, what, two Grays?”

“Six,” Magneto said. “Maybe eight, maybe more. There was no way to know.”

Charles couldn't even imagine how sick Magneto must have been. “My God. How did you survive? Did you get a bone marrow transplant? Did they give you a ton of steroids?”

Magneto laughed. In the dim green light of the dashboard his teeth glistened like the white bones of a skeleton.

“There wasn't enough of _anything_ , Charles. There was no help. Somehow my stem cells were resistant to the radiation syndrome, it seems. Immune, you might say. Not to sickness, though. That hit me hard. They took me to a lab, tried to figure out how I survived. Had a bunch of us survivors there, and only one other girl and I made it out alive after the tests that Schmidt, that is _Shaw_ , performed on us.”

Oh God. It all suddenly started to make sense to Charles. Magneto must have been one of those whose existence was legendary—immune to radiation and experimented on in the camps created after the Crash.

“But to answer your question, Charles, yes, I _do_ know how you feel. Now, be still and let me focus for a moment.”

Warmth spread from the place where Magneto's hand still lay on Charles’s thigh, and Charles closed his eyes, concentrating on the tingling current running through his body, a bit painful at first, like pins and needles, but then dulling the ache of Charles's muscles, leaving him with a sensation of soreness but without the burn. He sighed, welcoming the relaxation of his body, the relief almost like an orgasm. Whatever Magneto was doing, Charles was not going to question this. He let the gentle current and the hum of the car soothe him to sleep.

***

When he opened his eyes next they were out of the Tunnel. Charles squinted against the darkness, trying to see the surroundings and guess where they were. It seemed like Magneto had stopped in the middle of nowhere and was out of the car, taking a leak on the side of the road. He climbed back in, allowing cool, fresh air to wash over the interior. It was refreshing, but it made Charles shiver with cold.

“A few more miles,” Magneto said, rubbing his face. He looked tired, with a five o’clock shadow visible on his cheeks and dark circles forming underneath his eyes. It had been a long ride.

He took a turn from the asphalt onto a dirt road and the car kept rolling slowly, squeaking and bouncing on the uneven surface. They finally stopped in front of an old iron gate. Magneto rolled down the window and extended his hand toward the gate, but when nothing happened, he cursed and climbed out of the car to fumble with an old rusty chain holding the gate together. The air that washed through the car was crisp, and Charles hugged himself against the cold. Distant barking surprised him—as far as he knew, animals weren’t that common in Europe anymore.

Magneto got back in the car yet again and drove slowly toward a few dark shapes that appeared to be very old, small buildings.

“Come on,” Magneto said, turning the engine off but leaving the lights on to guide them to the door of the smallest dwelling.

Charles shivered violently in the night’s chill. The grass underneath his feet was long and wet, and the dew dampened his jeans and socks. He quickly crossed the thin ray of light from the car’s headlights and stood next to Magneto with his teeth clacking. He hugged himself tighter and stepped from one foot to the other. At last, Magneto managed to open the heavy wooden door and led Charles inside where it was even darker. The entryway smelled heavily of moss and old paint.

LED lights sparkled when Magneto took a few of them out of his pocket and let them drift up in the air, lightening up the hall and adjoining living room. The place was cluttered with old furniture, so old that Charles wondered if the house wasn’t even older than pre-Crash. It seemed to be from another millennium. But he didn’t really care if the house was a decrepit shed or a high-tech Orb palace, as long as there was a bed to lie down on and a blanket to cover himself with. Magneto kept releasing more lights and moving around the place, checking inventory. There was a kitchen area on the right hidden behind a corner. Magneto looked inside an empty fridge, dark and silent without the electricity, and then leaned down under a wooden table to drag out a container with several compartments filled with bottled water.

“Here,” he said, tossing one to Charles, who caught it clumsily and shook his head no. Nothing would make him take a sip of icy water when he was _this_ cold. Did nobody else in the world drink hot tea anymore? Magneto shrugged and pointed to a door at the back of the living room. “The bedroom is there. There should be blankets too. I’ll set up the generator and heating so it’ll be warm in a few hours.”

Charles walked to the bedroom and lay down on the only bed there. He wondered briefly where Magneto would sleep. Perhaps on the couch in the living room. He dragged as many blankets over himself as he could. He missed the strictly regulated environment of his building where the temperature was always right, where his mattress dipped under him in the most ergonomic fashion, and where taking a piss wouldn’t require going _out_ of the house. But exhaustion was stronger than his discomfort, or even his headache and nausea. His head was swimming, the whole room spinning, as much from the long ride as from withdrawal.

He thought that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep as dizzy as he was, but the next thing he knew it was morning, and harsh white light was falling through two small, dusty windows, exposing the ancient look of the place. The walls were made of actual bricks and wood; the construction was visible under the peeling plaster. The floors were wooden, coated with orange oil paint scratched in places where people walked around most often. The bed was also wooden, and Charles could bet that the blankets he was buried under were made of some natural fabric and would be cherished by any museum as an artifact.

Sitting up appeared to be a mistake, as a heavy wave of nausea made him hunch over and throw up on the floor—mostly bile, but it was embarrassing anyway, especially when Magneto walked into the bedroom dressed only in loose-fitting soft pants, bare-chested and barefoot. He looked at Charles clutching his stomach and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and the bastard actually smiled.

“I’ll get you a bucket.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, feeling another hit of nausea which made him retch on the floor once more. “Oh God.” He was still bending over when he felt a cool touch on his skin. Magneto placed a damp cloth on Charles’s neck and disappeared for a moment, only to come back with an ancient red plastic bucket and a fabric mop.

“Lie down for a while. I’ll fix us something to eat later.”

Food was the last thing Charles wanted to think of right now. He lay back with a heavy groan and listened to Magneto cleaning up after him. God, it was so humiliating.

Magneto opened the windows before he left, and Charles just stayed still, focusing on breathing and thinking about white rabbits and strawberries so he wouldn’t throw up again. When he felt strong enough to move, the sun was high up already; the early summer warmth seeped into the room and made the humid air a bit too heavy, as if there was an oxygen shortage. He felt sticky and queasy, and his head pounded like during a vicious hangover. He wriggled out of the blankets tangling his legs.

“Ugh.” He almost cried out in pain when he got up. Fuck. Maybe it was real brain damage after all and not just mild withdrawal, he thought in a panic. But if it was brain damage, would McCoy have let him go on this trip? It didn’t seem likely. And when he thought about it, it actually had been years since he’d gone a day without his nano-hydrocodone pain-patches, so perhaps withdrawal was the logical conclusion after all.

The house was quiet, Magneto nowhere to be seen or heard. Charles’s voice was hoarse and his throat was swollen from all the retching. It was hard not only to swallow through the dry lump but also to breathe. He coughed, but that made his upset stomach clench again. Dark spots danced in his field of his vision, forcing him to grip the door frame as he stumbled outside.

The sunlight in the yard was even harsher to his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun as clearly as this; at home the gray rainclouds usually erased the difference between day and night. He wondered if the bright daylight was an aftereffect of the radiation or if it was typical for this part of the world. Thinking of which—weren’t they in the middle of the polluted area? Magneto had said it was safe, but could he trust him? Magneto was immune, yes, but what about Charles? It was probably too late to worry about it now—he was already here. He’d just have to trust Magneto’s experience and knowledge of the geography and radiation levels, and hope for the best.

The surroundings were rural and ancient. It was stunning that such a place still existed. The buildings—made from wood and brick and grayish stones—outlined a square yard. The barn’s roof was lopsided and collapsed in the middle, but apart from that the construction of the compound looked solid. The yard itself was mostly covered in dirt, with blades of grass poking through here and there. Behind the shed a few iron tools lay abandoned and rusty where the red paint had peeled off. All of this looked like a postcard from the early twentieth century.

Charles walked through the yard toward the splashing sound coming from behind the barn. Every step he took made him less steady, wobblier, as if a hammer were hitting his temples. He really wasn’t sure a small chemical imbalance of the body could cause such severe problems. Perhaps it was radiation getting to him after all?

Magneto, with his back to Charles, was leaning over an old iron water well with a pump—still bare-chested, with his pale skin glistening in the sun where it had been splashed with water. The dark lines of circuitry and chips were clearly visible now, starting high up on Magneto’s nape and going down along the line of his spine and shoulders, then down his arms to his fingertips. The rivers of wires accentuated the lean muscles of Magneto’s back.

Magneto turned around upon hearing Charles’s footsteps, letting the droplets of water trickle down his chest like little gems, and Charles stood there, transfixed for a second. Magneto’s eyes were very bright in the sun, his lips slightly parted, and maybe if Charles hadn’t felt as sick as he did, he’d get hard at the sight. As it was, he mostly wanted someone to turn off the sun and lift the crushing weight of pain from his skull.

“Afternoon,” Magneto said, his lips quirking in a half-smile while Charles struggled to fight the nausea, disorientation, and most of all the headache for long enough to answer in a polite manner. He wondered if dropping to his knees to push his face into the humid ground would bring him any relief.

“I need—” He winced at the sound of his voice. He wasn’t sure what he needed. Perhaps another S-patch McCoy had packed for him, but Charles didn’t know where his bag was. “I need something for the pain.” And when Magneto didn’t answer, Charles added, “Please.”

He tried to take one more step forward but wasn’t able to. His hands and legs shook, hurting, as if all his nerve endings had been exposed and flayed. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Magneto didn’t move, but Charles could see some shift in his expression. Perhaps it was pity, perhaps disdain, or perhaps concern.

The dirt beneath Charles’s hands and knees was warm at the surface and oddly cool underneath. He hadn’t noticed when he’d dropped to a crouch, but now that he was on the ground and could crawl, he found himself at Magneto’s feet, clawing at his soft pants. He pushed his face into the smooth fabric. His lips felt dry and chapped when he licked them.

“Charles?”

It was with regret Charles pulled back enough to look up into Magneto’s blue eyes.

“Look here, can you focus on my finger?”

And Charles should have looked at Magneto’s hands, but instead he was transfixed by one of the last droplets of water falling down Magneto’s chest—like a rhinestone or a real diamond, glistening and so pretty.

He felt the tingle of Magneto’s finger under his chin, tilting his face up. It felt like an intimate gesture. For a moment Charles let himself drown in dreams of how it would feel to part his lips and wait, wait, wait, until Magneto would lean down for a kiss, sensual and deep.

Charles wondered if he could look alluring enough to get what he wanted—a kiss, a pain-patch, he wasn’t sure anymore which one he yearned for more. Given his current state and that Magneto had just wiped up the floor after him, he’d probably fail. But maybe if he skidded his palms down the back of Magneto’s thighs and then up again, settling on his ass, kneading the firm flesh there… maybe if he leaned up and mouthed at the swell of Magneto’s crotch, maybe he’d find Magneto half-hard and willing? The truth was Charles would do anything Magneto wanted right now, just so he’d perform his electric mojo on Charles again or give him the goddamned patches.

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

When Magneto’s hand touched Charles’s cheek it was gentle and soft.

“Come on,” he said while Charles closed his eyes. The pain was unbearable. Tears welled again in the corners of his eyes. He was useless. He probably wouldn’t be much better in bed than a cheap sex-bot.

He let Magneto help him up and lead him back to the house, though, and to the shade of the hall. The heater was off for the day so it was cool inside. He walked a few more steps, each of them shooting a jab of pain straight to his temples, and on the fourth step his body gave out on him. He leaned harder on Magneto and allowed him to carry him back to bed. So much for being sexy and alluring, he thought in a daze. There was a time when he’d had to fend off come-ons from his students on a daily basis. But he’d fallen so far from those days, he wasn’t sure he could appeal to a sea slug right now.

Some time later he felt a wet, cool cloth being placed on his forehead once more.

“Drink this.”

He was presented with the same blue drink he’d been given by Magneto earlier. He wished the nutrients came in a patch or a drip so he wouldn’t have to struggle to swallow past his aching throat. He took a few cautious gulps of the drink and fell back on the pillows with a groan.

There was something ridiculous in the thought that one of the world’s most notorious terrorists was caring for him, moping up his vomit and helping him rehydrate. He’d laugh if he could.

“God, it hurts,” he said, not sure which part of his body he was talking about anymore. “You sure the socket isn’t slipping or something?”

He felt the bed dip, and gentle fingers combed through his sweaty hair, pushing it out of Charles’s face, but maybe it was a dream already. He thought Magneto asked him something, but Charles was too out of it to respond. He refused to open his eyes. Everything was darkness and agony, and movement was out of the question.

“Charles, look into the light, please.”

Charles obeyed and followed the stream of light from the tiny flashlight Magneto had taken out of his pocket.

“Your responses seem fine to me. Let me check on the socket now.”

The fingers in his hair tightened, and he was about to protest because, fuck, he didn’t need any more pain right now, but the tingling current he had experienced earlier in the car came back, caressing his scalp. He breathed in and out, in and out, focusing on that sensation, and the headache slowly subsided—not entirely, but enough for Charles to relax his strained muscles just a bit.

“Everything looks fine to me,” Magneto said, withdrawing his fingers from Charles’s hair.

“Please don’t go,” Charles wanted to say when he felt Magneto’s warmth slipping away, but drowsiness was claiming him again, and he surrendered to it’s dark oblivion.  
  


* * *

When he woke up again, feeling much more like himself, Magneto was there next to him.

It seemed like Magneto was always perfectly collected but never really peaceful—his stillness was of the studied, controlled kind, like someone always on guard, ready to fight, assessing the enemy and preparing for the inevitable assault.

Here, in the early evening light and spread out on the bed, leaning casually against the wooden headboard with his eyes closed, he looked relaxed and unguarded. Maybe it was that illusion, or maybe the vague memory of Magneto’s gentle touch on Charles’s hair that made Charles reach over to trace the lines of circuits on Magneto’s palms and arms. Or maybe it was desire, plain and simple.

Magneto startled at first, his body rigid and tense and ready to bolt, but the evening was so still, and Charles probably didn’t look scary at all, or maybe Magneto just wanted to indulge the junkie. Whatever was his motive, Magneto sighed and didn’t withdraw when Charles kept going, ghosting the dark lines with his fingertips up to the delicate skin on the inner side of the elbow. He’d expected the lines to protrude from the skin, creating little bumps he could feel and follow with his eyes closed, but they were as smooth as the ink lines of an old tattoo.

“Did it hurt to get those done?” Charles asked, hoping he wasn’t imposing and spoiling the delicate mood they both seemed to be drifting in.

Magneto looked down at Charles’s fingers, placed right over the joint of two chips on the inside of his wrist.

“No,” he said, and Charles thought that was the end of the discussion, but to his surprise Magneto kept talking after a moment. “Not the ‘placing them in’ part at least. I was sedated, you see. But it was the healing, later, and then turning the wires on… that was… unpleasant.” He grimaced at unseen memories, suggesting the process must have been much more painful than just _unpleasant_.

“Did you…” Charles wasn’t sure he should ask, but he was curious. “Did you want to have it done? Or was that something they did to you in the camps?”

He was stroking over Magneto’s palm now. He wasn’t going to stop as long as Magneto allowed this, and right now Magneto was opening his fist loosely and even turning his palm so that Charles could have better access. When Charles pushed a little bit harder, massaging the pale, soft skin in between the lines of wires, Magneto relaxed even further, sliding down the bed and closing his eyes. His lashes, thick and very straight, looked coppery in the afternoon sun and cast shadows on his cheeks, giving him an almost feminine look—a kind of vulnerability that he would surely despise if he knew how Charles perceived him in that moment.

“No. I mean, I didn’t particularly _want_ them at the time. But it was this or not moving my hands at all. The nerves were damaged in the post-radiation treatment and experiments, and my range of motion was deteriorating fast. I’d already lost all feeling in my arms. So you see, at first it was only to improve the sensitivity of touch and enhance movement. The wiring and programing that allowed me to control magnetic waves—that came later. It happened by accident. Once I was healed enough to practice and I could make a fist again, I noticed that along with the motor control and sensory enhancement there came a bit… more.”

He opened his eyes and stretched out his arm, curling his fingers inwards and then straightening them again. “Such a strange thing not to be able to move a part of your own body. When you look at your hand, you tell it to flex and nothing happens, not even a twitch of your fingers.

“Anyway, I was recovering fast—faster than most. The wiring needed adjusting, though. You can imagine trying to grip a cup and instead smashing it in your hand. But somehow during the process of adjusting the electrical levels, Schmidt saw me bend a shovel I barely even touched. He took an interest in me.”

The way Magneto said it made Charles feel cold, like there was an undertone of dread hidden in the disdain.

“I was placed in his care. He redid some of the wires, enhanced them, and fiddled with the programing. And then we practiced. And when I didn’t improve fast enough we’d practice for longer. I guess without Schmidt I wouldn’t be able to do this…”

The iron poker from the hearth levitated in the air, and the rod twisted until it formed a perfect circle only to straighten back to its original form and float gently to the floor.

“Amazing,” Charles said, honestly.

“Handy.” Magneto sighed, lying back and closing his eyes again. “Are you feeling any better? Ready to eat something more substantial than enhanced water?”

To Charles’s surprise he had to admit that, indeed, he did feel better. The headache was only a distant distraction, a low hum he could almost ignore, and his muscles had relaxed significantly. His whole body was more at ease. Perhaps the churning in his stomach was hunger, not sickness anymore.

“Yes,” he said, turning on his side. By now Magneto’s scent was familiar to him and he relished it. He was enjoying the warmth of another body close to him, as well as the idea that he’d slept through half the day practically cuddled by this gorgeous man.

“Good,” Magneto said, sighing before he sat up, as if he was as unhappy about the loss of proximity as Charles was.

After a few minutes Charles got up too, glad that he didn’t feel as fragile as before. Perhaps he was getting better. Or perhaps Magneto’s presence held a magic healing power, after all.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK at the absolutely amazing ART SpaceAltie did - this time for ERIK!
> 
> http://spacealtie.tumblr.com/post/124184860747/i-finally-found-some-time-to-make-a-second-pic-for
> 
> I am the luckiest author in the world!!!

 

 

 

6.

 

“Wow.” Charles all but moaned around the food Magneto had prepared from ingredients he must have procured God knew where while Charles was sleeping. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ eaten anything this good.”

“Glad you like it.” Magneto smiled, that broad smile of his that made Charles’s heart rate pick up. “Although I hardly think that pasta with eggs is the most sumptuous food.”

“Well, it’s super good.”

The meal with Magneto was a surprisingly nice affair, especially now that Charles felt better. Not only Magneto was an attractive man to look at, he also had much more to say than Charles had expected him to. Soon enough they were arguing about access to healthcare and implants for the financially less fortunate, and despite their difference of opinion, Charles had to admit that Magneto’s views—even if way too idealistic—weren’t actually appalling, and his way of reasoning was intellectually thrilling. Although he was obviously wrong.

Because he wanted to show his appreciation for the meal, or maybe because he wanted to feel useful and not like a parasite, Charles offered to wash the dishes. It was a hard task with no running water, but somehow he made it work. Once done he sat down on the ratty couch next to Magneto, who was reading on his tablet.

“Do you have net on this?” Perhaps Magneto would allow Charles to use his device.

“No.” Magneto put the tablet down. “Tomorrow I have a meeting. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

It was touching that Magneto would care, but Charles wasn’t a child. “Of course.”

“Good. I’ll be going for a run in the morning too. You’re welcome to join me.”

Charles had always hated running, but perhaps a little bit of physical activity would do him good, now that he was regaining his equilibrium. If he was going to be stranded with no work to do, he could at least use this time for self-improvement.

“Okay,” he said and fell silent. He wasn’t sure what he should say next. Magneto picked up the tablet again and Charles didn’t want to interrupt.

He was about to get up and go to the bedroom when Magneto asked, “Do you play chess?” And when Charles nodded, he retrieved a traditional wooden set from a cupboard.

This was surreal. The whole trip was crazy, but the most incredible part of it was sitting with the leader of the Brotherhood, who’d just made pasta for dinner, and playing chess with him while discussing history and comparing truths that were taught differently on two sides of the world. Charles lost the game, which was unusual, but he blamed it on his overall exhaustion.

The bed felt warm and cozy tonight, and Charles wrapped himself in the woolen blankets with a happy sigh. He left the door to the bedroom open, and when he heard Magneto settling on the couch for the night he smiled to himself. It was good not to be alone.

 

* * *

“Oh, my God,” Charles wheezed, trying to keep up with Magneto.

He’d been woken up at bloody dawn by Magneto, who was grinning at him, already in his running gear and almost bouncing. By the time Charles had crawled out of bed and thrown on some loose fitting clothes, Magneto was already out of the house and jogging slowly toward the gate. The sun was up but it wasn’t as bright as the day before, or maybe Charles was simply better enough for the light not to bother him that much anymore. He sighed and followed Magneto down the road and then up a gentle hill.

Meadows stretched on both sides of the road like a sea of green leaves and yellow, dried-out grass. Trees in a deeper shade of green created a wall on the horizon. There were no other compounds in sight, but the rolling hills of the terrain could be concealing them from view. The barking dogs must have come from some nearby settlement, unless they were wild creatures.

Half an hour later Charles was _done_. He almost tripped over a branch, just because he couldn’t raise his feet high enough. His legs didn’t seem to want to lift out of the long grass. They were running now along the edge of the forest and toward a lake that glistened behind the trees. Maybe calling this running was a bit of an exaggeration though; Charles’s pace was little more than a jog, or maybe a slow jog. Any slower and he’d be “crawl-jogging.” Perhaps Charles could get a patent for it. Thank God Magneto had been generous enough to wait patiently for him to catch up.

They took a break by the lake and Charles took in the surroundings: fragrant trees, birds chirping, and water lapping gently against a sandy shore. His breathing was slowing bit by bit, but it was a few minutes before he could form a sentence.

“This is idyllic,” he said without sarcasm. He’d never seen anything like this outside of artificial environments. “Why haven’t people returned here? Are you sure there isn’t a risk from the radiation anymore?”

Magneto wasn’t even a bit winded when he replied. “Not in this part of the country. The Brotherhood has been conducting independent tests every other month for the past two years, and we’ve found the levels have been low enough to live here safely. It’s probably been safe for years. But this information is, of course, being suppressed by Shaw. As you probably know, Shaw Corp. profits from selling anti-radiation drugs and gear, and they control all the traffic and merchandise between cities. I’m sure their income greatly exceeds whatever they need to pay off the press to stay silent. They profit by pretending Europe is uninhabitable.”

“Can’t you just broadcast a message about it?” Charles assumed that once the truth was out there, there wouldn’t be any way to stop the information from spreading—after all, Infospace wasn’t a centrally controlled environment.

“This will be your job, Charles, once we get back. The Brotherhood wasn’t ready before, as we needed a secure repopulation plan. I believe that with Jean, our AI, we can now prevent chaos and control the migration of thousands of inhabitants back here.”

Charles took in the sight once more—the gentle swaying of the trees, the rippled surface of the lake, and the peaceful sky above them, blue and clear. He could see how Magneto could be worried that all this land would be laid waste if people rushed back here without any supervision, any command structure. It was a bit like moving pieces on a chessboard; there needed to be rules or the pieces would all topple at once.

“Care for a swim?” Magneto asked, and at Charles’s surprised “Huh?” he grinned and threw off his T-shirt and then his running shorts and then his underwear. They landed softly in the tall grass.

Charles stood there, transfixed and somewhat blinded by all the nakedness. Bloody hell. _Jesus_.

Before he could react, Magneto was already wading into the lake.

“It’s a bit cold, but nice!” he shouted from the water. Then he took a dive and vanished under the dark green surface.

“Okay,” Charles said to himself. “Sure. Why not? Swimming. I can swim.” He shed his clothes, hesitating for a moment before shimmying out of his undies too. He didn’t consider himself unattractive, but in comparison to Magneto’s lean and muscled body he was scrawny, pale, and weak after spending months and months being hooked up and active only in Infospace.

He forgot about his insecurities, though, the moment he walked into the lake. Immersing himself in the cold water after all that running felt like heaven. He splashed around, feeling light and liberated. Magneto swam closer to Charles and grinned, spitting out some water. His eyelashes were wet; droplets hung from the thick ends like tiny stars, and in the sun his eyes looked an almost translucent green.

“We should get going,” he said. “I have to drive back to the Tunnel in time to meet up with Logan and the others.”

He climbed up the shore and bent down to pick up his clothes, then wiped himself with his T-shirt and—to Charles’s great regret—put on his shorts. Magneto’s ass was a piece of art that shouldn’t ever be covered, Charles decided.

 

* * *

Days passed by in pretty much the same fashion: running in the morning, Magneto going to his important meetings, and Charles being left to his own affairs, until Magneto returned most evenings looking worn out and not saying much more than, “I’ve brought us dinner.” They’d eat whatever there was, cold but still good, and Charles usually packed the leftovers for his next day alone. Sometimes Magneto would bring a crate of apples, sometimes bread or eggs, but he never said where the food came from. Charles was curious—were there any farms nearby? Or was the food coming from the Tunnel’s bazaar stalls? When he asked Magneto if there were any shops around, he just got an amused look in return and no reply.

Charles had to admit that he felt physically better with each passing day. The headaches were mostly gone, and the weariness was slowly easing. He was sleeping well for the first time in longer than he could remember. Maybe it was thanks to Magneto’s presence in the other room, or maybe all the outdoor activities, but sleep overtook Charles nearly the moment his head hit the pillow. For lack of anything better to do, Charles kept up with the running and exercising even when Magneto wasn’t around. He tried to eat at least three meals a day, although that was a difficult task as he didn’t know what to actually do with raw potatoes or carrots—it was way harder than heating up instant ramen. But practice makes perfect, or so people said. The first time he’d put vegetable soup in the fridge for Magneto to eat when he got back, Charles felt accomplished and congratulated himself on his domestic skills.

But most of the time… God was he _bored_. It was an odd feeling, unfamiliar to him. But with Magneto gone for hours at a time, and with no access to Infospace, there was so little for Charles to do. He’d already looked around the place and catalogued all the archaic furniture and appliances in the house and the surrounding buildings. He’d walked to the lake and back countless times over, but he was afraid to venture any further in case the pollution-free area was restricted to this narrow fragment of terrain. He’d skimmed through old paper books lying on the shelves in the living room, but most of those were classics that he’d already read or horrid romances with idiotic plots.

The idyllic lake, the sunshine, the comfy cabin and home-cooked meals: Charles should have felt rested and content, but he didn’t. Maybe it was a vague feeling of being imprisoned here with nowhere to run, but despite his improving fitness, he just wasn’t fine. He almost missed the headaches, the pretext to use more S-patches to have a moment of forgetfulness where he wouldn’t have to put up with himself.

Two weeks after their arrival, Charles still wasn’t sure how he felt about everything. He lay on the grass on his back, heedless of the leaves sticking to his shirt, and sighed with distress. Above him the sky was bright blue again, dotted with milky clouds that scattered like cream on the gentle breeze. He shaded his eyes against the light and tried to remember the last time he’d had a peaceful moment like this. He really _should_ be resting here. He should at least try, put some more effort into it. But soon enough his thoughts wandered to codes and patterns, the equation of the clouds above. He deciphered it and compared it to the schematics of Infospace, and Charles rolled on his stomach, put his forehead on folded arms, and closed his eyes. 

The grass underneath smelled warm, like some organic food Raven used to order for them on those rare occasions when she stayed at home. The thought made Charles's chest constrict in an unexpected longing. For what, though, he wasn't sure. Youth perhaps, or lost chances, or people who’d vanished from his life.

He was tense and unhappy, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was about. It wasn't the urge to be connected to Infospace, although that would probably take his mind off things. He didn't think it was the lingering effect of withdrawal either, if he’d even been truly addicted. Perhaps he was just still overworked. He’d been unhealthy for years, and maybe two weeks of country living wasn’t enough to undo the chronic lack of endorphins or serotonin or whatever it was. Or perhaps this feeling of being adrift and without a goal in life was something inherent to him, rooted deep inside him, like a stamp of his character. 

He could remember his younger self, though, from when he was still at the university. He’d been enthralled by his work then, invigorated by long, heated discussions. He’d finished his days with his mind still buzzing from ideas and arguments and his body sated from a good fuck and good drugs. Unfortunately, everyone had to grow up.

He wondered what Erik was doing today and when he would he be back. Would he arrive in time for their chess session or long after Charles had gone to sleep? And then he caught himself thinking even more of Erik—of his concise but pointed remarks and his insightful observations. Of his laughter, which wasn't easy to induce, but once he started chuckling his eyes would brighten with mirth and his teeth would show in his wide, shark-like smile. If Charles didn't know better he'd say that Erik had altered his features somehow—and when had Magneto become _Erik_ to him? It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment. Perhaps it was back when Erik had first told Charles about his implants, or perhaps it was when he’d laughed at one of Charles’s jokes—loud and warm, with his head thrown back and mouth open wide. His eyes crinkled in the most adorable way then, and it made Charles’s breath quicken up and his cheeks flush with heat.

It was all connected to Charles’s growing fascination with Erik, both mind _and body_. He couldn't quite remember the last time he’d had sex. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he’d felt arousal. It must have been when he and Moira were still together, but not at the end when their whole relationship had been slipping through his fingers like overcooked noodles. And after she'd left for good… perhaps he could've used sex programs, as they were as good as the real thing, better even, but Charles just hadn't had the time. And he really hadn't felt like doing anything.

Now, though… _Oh God_ , he was infatuated. Now he watched Erik doing trivial things like chopping vegetables for dinner, muscles dancing on his wired forearms, and he felt hot all over, hard just from the sight of Erik’s deft movements. Once or twice he thought he caught Erik watching him too, but perhaps that was just Charles’s imagination. He wondered if Erik had someone, if he and Raven really had a history, if it was weird to wish for things to happen between them. What if it was some twisted Stockholm syndrome? He wasn’t even sure he could trust his own responses truly, because what if his sudden attraction to Erik was a result of being trapped here with this man, listening to him breathe in the night in the adjoining room and watching Erik dress in the morning? Charles wasn’t a prisoner, not really, but he couldn’t deny he was at the Brotherhood’s mercy.

Still, he ached and _wanted_. And that was probably why he kept leaving the bedroom door open every single night in some unspoken invitation. But he woke up disappointed and very alone every morning.

* * *

 

Charles startled out of his sleep in the middle of the night with a niggling sense that something was wrong. He left the bed and padded to the living room. The couch was empty, sheets rumpled as if left in haste.

“Erik?” Charles asked when he saw Erik sitting on a chair by the window with a cigarette in his hand, staring into the darkness. “Are you okay?”

Erik’s posture was all tense and unnatural, frozen. The cigarette was lit, but a long stub of ash hung from the end as if the cigarette had burned on it’s own, uninhaled. The ash fell to the floor but Erik didn’t bother to look at it—he remained still, staring straight ahead.

“Go back to sleep, Charles,” Erik said, calm and clear, not looking at him.

A cold shiver ran through Charles’s body. Erik had never felt as dangerous as right now, sitting there in the darkness.

Charles went back to the bedroom without a word and lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. Soon he heard the front door shut and then the car engine start.

The next eighteen hours—and yes, Charles was counting—dragged for ages. Charles was anxious, waiting nervously for the sound of the car that would signal Erik’s return. He tried not to think of the gun that he was sure he’d seen on Erik’s lap. He tried to focus on making food, tidying up the place, and reading. He couldn’t help but sigh with relief when at ten forty-five he finally heard the roar of the engine and the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. He pretended to keep reading until the front door slammed open.

“Hey, Charles! I’m home!” Erik shouted loudly. Something about Erik’s voice was off, and he seemed to have stumbled into something in the darkness of the hall. “Fuck. Stupid shoes,” Charles heard him say.

And yes, Erik was definitely drunk. God, how had he managed to drive in this state?

“Charles. Chaaaarlie.”

Erik stumbled into living room, grinning widely, with his shirt askew and a mad gleam in his eyes. He waved his hand trying to get a grip on the wooden doorframe, and Charles froze, because Erik was holding a gun in his unsteady hand and there was no way it wasn’t loaded.

“Ah, there you are! We… we have to celebrate tonight!” Erik stood in the doorway clutching at the wall as if it were a lifesaving device.

“Okay,” Charles said, standing up slowly and keeping his eyes on the gun. “Put the gun away and we can reheat the food I made earlier. We’ll eat and you’ll tell me what we’re celebrating.”

Erik looked down at his hand as if bewildered he was holding a weapon and then froze, still staring at it. Charles quickly crossed the short distance between them and put his hand over Erik’s, extracting the gun from his hand. To his surprise Erik let him do this without a fuss, pliantly leaning toward him.

“Charles, Charles. You. You drive me crazy. You are so… pretty.”

“What?” Charles wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. Erik leaned even closer, grabbing Charles’s shirt in his fist and almost nuzzling Charles’s neck.

“So pretty. With those big blue innocent eyes of yours. And your pouty red lips. And the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking back. Why do you do this?”

Charles kept still. He wasn’t even sure he was still breathing. Erik’s hand tightened on his shirt. “Do what?”

“Why do you keep doing this to me? With your soft breathing when you sleep. And with your humming when you eat.”

Charles tried to take a step back, but pushing on Erik felt like trying to move a solid wall, and the gun that Charles still had in his hand, pointing to the floor, didn’t make maneuvering any easier. “Erik, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Erik shook his head so violently it almost looked grotesque. “Oh, I know. And I want you. We… we need to fuck.”

Erik’s snaked his hand between their bodies and he palmed Charles’s crotch. _Jesus fucking Christ._ There was nothing else that Charles wanted more, but taking advantage of a drunken terrorist wasn’t exactly the most intelligent move, even if said terrorist was very willing to be taken advantage of. Or was Erik taking advantage of him? There was no mistaking Charles’s response to Erik’s warm hand.

“Okay, okay,” Charles said with difficulty. “Whatever you want, Erik. We can have sex later, though, when you’re sober, okay?”

“But I want you _now_. I want you _all the time_.” He nuzzled Charles’s neck again, mouthing hot and wet at the skin there, making Charles shiver. “Please.”

Something warm uncoiled in Charles’s chest, and no, this was not the time and place for Charles to be infatuated, no matter what that desperate “please” was doing to Charles’s resolve.

“Let me just put this away.” He indicated the gun and extricated himself from Erik’s arms. He quickly went to the kitchen and put the gun on the table, out of Erik’s reach, though granted Erik could probably use his abilities to summon the gun. He looked back at Erik, who hadn’t so much as moved from the spot, way too inebriated to actually process what was going on.

“Come on.” Charles reached for Erik’s hand and tugged a little. He needed to get Erik to bed before he fell on his face in the middle of the room.

Erik took a step, then another, and somehow they made it to the bedroom where Charles all but pushed Erik onto the bed. He took his shoes off and climbed on the bed to unzip Erik’s jacket. Erik complied, looking up at Charles with his broad, toothy smile. Once freed of the jacket, he wrapped his arms around Charles and pulled him on top of himself.

“Umpf, Erik. Jesus.” Charles tried to free himself from the octopus-like grip, but before he managed to do this, Erik hugged him closer and kissed him. It was just a shy peck on the lips at first, but it was quickly followed by another one, and then another. And God have mercy, but Charles was only human and he couldn’t deny himself this. He parted his lips and opened up for Erik. Erik’s mouth was smooth and warm, his breath hot and redolent of alcohol, but it didn’t bother Charles. Their tongues brushed and Charles groaned because it was so good. So wrong too, but so gorgeously good to have this fierce, beautiful man underneath him, to grip Erik’s hips and grind down a bit over Erik’s obvious erection until they both gasped.

And no, Charles couldn’t do this. Another move and he’d come in his pants, and he really didn’t think that drunken humping would lead them to anything good. He backed off a bit and slid off Erik to lie next to him on the bed. He didn’t want to lose this closeness, though, so he kept kissing Erik—his cheeks and eyes and then again his mouth. It was a little less urgent now, with Erik pliant and soft, giving in and accepting whatever Charles was offering, his hand pressed gently against Charles’s side, not gripping him hard anymore.

They made out like teenagers until Erik’s eyes started to close and his kisses slowed down so much that Charles realized Erik was falling asleep.

He kept stroking Erik’s back and face, thinking how beautiful he looked, even as trashed as he was. He was about to get up when Erik pulled him closer again.

“I killed a man today.” Erik’s voice sounded strained, barely audible. “He was a bad man, responsible for too many experiments and deaths in the camps. He deserved to die. But… I killed him.”

Charles didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t repulsed by the fact, not really, but his heart started beating faster and his hands shook a little when he cradled Erik’s face again.

“I know,” he said, because he’d suspected as much.

“I’ve killed many people, Charles.” Erik’s hold on Charles tightened to the level of being painful, as if he was afraid that Charles would get up and leave.

“I know. Sleep, Erik.” Charles brushed his thumbs over Erik’s temples. “We’ll talk in the morning.” He petted Erik’s hair at his nape and held him until Erik’s breathing finally evened out. Erik snored lightly, probably from the effect of all the alcohol. After a while Charles extricated himself from the heat of Erik’s body, grabbed a blanket, and went to the kitchen.

The gun was still lying there—a solid piece of cold metal on the kitchen table, glistening in the moonlight coming from the window. Charles took it carefully and weighed it in his hand. It was much heavier than it looked, but still, it was quite incredible that such a small object had been the cause of someone’s death earlier today.

He shoved the gun into one of kitchen’s drawers and closed it tight, and then he sat down at the table, folding his arms on the old wooden surface. He turned his head to look at the yard, where everything was blue and black under the dome of night. The sky was lit by the moon, but stars were still visible, so many stars. Charles wasn’t sure he’d ever seen stars this clearly in his life—the real ones, not those in the movies or in Infospace’s planetariums.

Charles hadn’t had sex for so long it was only natural he’d want this. His still half-hard cock and the dark wet spot on his jeans where he’d leaked earlier were prominent proof of that. He’d suspected Erik might have been interested too, hoped even. But Erik had been so drunk, so distressed… The impossible morning loomed ahead. Would Erik even remember what had happened tonight?

He should jerk off. He should just rub one out and feel better. He’d have trouble going to sleep with a boner anyway, so it was the only prudent course of action.

He peeked into the bedroom, but Erik was still snoring softly, with no signs of waking up, so Charles padded to the couch, sat down, and undid his jeans. His cock was erect, darkened and glistening at the tip, and Charles gave it a tug, then another. He thought of Erik’s long, elegant fingers, of his wired, muscled arms, and he imagined the electrical current of Erik’s touch running through his body again. His hand on his cock sped up and he opened his mouth, his breath quickening.

He relived their kisses, messy and perfect, and the roll of Erik’s hips, the weight of Erik’s length on Charles’s cock, and with two more strokes Charles was coming, hard and fast. He tried to be as silent as possible, and to catch all the semen in his cupped hand. He was still shaking when he collapsed back on the couch, wrung out like a balloon without air.

The moment of bliss didn’t last long, though, because as soon as the calming effects of his orgasm faded, embarrassment twisted in his gut and settled in. He’d just jerked off like a creep to images of Erik, with Erik sleeping in the other room, oblivious to Charles’s endeavors. The drying come, evidence of Charles’s wrongdoing, was still sticky on his thigh and hand where he’d caught it. What had he been thinking?

He got up slowly with a grunt and walked back toward the kitchen to wash his hands in the sink using the water stored in the metal bucket on the floor. He could only dream of a shower, so he had to make do with what he could. He wiped the mess away with a piece of cloth and hoped that Erik wouldn’t smell it in the room the next day.

The orgasm left him somewhat loose-limbed and stupefied, so Charles dragged himself back to the couch, slumped down on it, and covered himself with the blanket. God, he hadn’t wanked in… he didn’t know in how long. He should be thankful his dick hadn’t vanished from the lack of use. But he’d been so busy with government work at first, and then his own projects after. And then with the headaches, and the pain-patches…

And now that it was summer, the last government assignment would have been almost a year ago, or something like that. He couldn’t recall correctly. Timelines were vague in Charles’s mind. He wasn’t even sure when the agency had declined his services. Or why. They used to rely on his abilities so much. Even before the socket, when he’d been tracing patterns and plans on the net through standard interfaces, he’d been good—the best, probably. “Perceptive,” people used to say. “Like a telepath.”

And later, with full immersion, he’d been unstoppable, really. He’d been given the hardest projects—uncovering high-profile fraud, finding important missing people. He wished he could say his abilities were never used as a means to end someone’s life, but he wasn’t as naïve as that. In so many ways he was no more ethical than Erik.

The point was that he’d been needed, though. When had that changed, exactly? Perhaps it was sometime around when Moira left him, or maybe it had started even earlier than that. He wasn’t sure, but there’d gradually been less and less work from the agency, and more and more of his own research and findings.

His thoughts were slowing down. Exhaustion pulled on him, and he curled up on the couch, head on the grainy fabric, feet hanging over the edge. How Erik—tall and long-limbed as he was—could sleep in such conditions was beyond Charles. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep like this, but the orgasm and the turmoil of the evening had left him so confused and tired, even the uncomfortable couch couldn’t keep him from dozing off.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warning: brief mention of a child loss.

 7.

 

If Charles didn’t know any better he’d say that Erik was brooding. Charles had been anxious about the impending awkwardness of the morning, but Erik had woken up in such a foul mood he hadn’t said a word to Charles. The hangover must have been terrible, and Erik had barely muttered a terse “thank you” when Charles pushed a heaping plate of fried eggs his way. They were running out of food and Charles didn’t have much of a choice while preparing breakfast.

Outside rain had been drizzling since the early hours of the day, matching the mood in the house and chilling the air. Charles dug out his blue university sweatshirt and curled up on the couch with a book. He couldn’t really focus on reading, though, not with Erik sulking silently over the gun in the kitchen, cleaning it and assembling the parts with his sinewy fingers.

Charles’s thoughts kept drifting back to the events of the previous night: the heat of Erik’s body pressed to him, the softness of his lips, the urgency in how he’d gripped Charles, and all this shadowed by Erik’s quiet confession about a murder. How did one have a normal morning conversation after a night like that?

When Erik came back into the living room, he was radiating tension, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, and when Charles finally dared to look up from his book and ask, “Are you okay?” he stormed out of the house and into the rain. Soon the door creaked again and Erik walked into the room shrugging off his dripping jacket and shaking water from his head like a dog. A large metal basket full of firewood was floating next to his hand, and Erik guided it to the floor and started throwing logs onto the fireplace.

Fire sparkled in the hearth, hissing a bit where the wood was wet, and Charles turned his head to watch Erik arranging the logs into a neat pile. He couldn’t resist standing up and walking around the couch to get a better look. He hadn’t had a chance to sit near a real fire since he was a little boy visiting relatives in a mansion in upstate New York. He extended his hands, smiling when he felt warmth on the skin of his palms. When a second later he glanced at Erik, he was caught in the intensity of the gray-blue gaze. It seemed like Erik wanted to say something, or maybe pick up where they had left off last night, and Charles licked his lips in anticipation, but after a beat Erik stood abruptly and turned back to the kitchen, rummaging around the cabinets, leaving Charles sitting on the floor confused and disappointed. Charles breathed out and closed his eyes for a moment, pretending to just bask in the warmth of the fire.

He sat there for a long time, until regret slowly gave way to both amusement and annoyance with Erik’s inability to express what he wanted. Charles would have to make the first move and most probably risk inevitable rejection. As he was deliberating asking Erik outright about last night, a loud, rattling sound came from the kitchen, followed by a curse.

He jumped to his feet to peek into the kitchen, where Erik was splayed on the floor under the sink, both hands full of pipes he must have been trying to… melt together?

“What are you doing?” Charles asked.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Erik scowled at him from the floor. “Fucking PVC. Why can’t they make pipes out of decent copper or cast-iron?”

The tap above coughed and spluttered a brown, thick, smelly substance, then rattled again and stopped. “Yep. Pump’s shot to hell. I’ll need a new engine to fix the sink and the shower too.”

That was a very good idea, Charles thought. He missed hot showers after weeks of splashing around in cold water. Plus, running water would have made last night’s cleanup after his impromptu getting off that much easier. He could probably survive these Spartan conditions for a few more days, but if they were going to be here for much longer he’d kill for some even half-decent modern appliances. He cleared his throat. “How long are we going to stay here for?”

“Two more weeks,” Erik said, but for some reason he didn’t sound sure. He stood up and leaned with his hands braced on the counter, looking tense and angry. “I have… some unfinished business here.”

Charles had mixed feelings about the upcoming weeks. On the one hand, he didn’t want this unexpected vacation to be over, and he definitely wanted to spend more time in Erik’s company, but on the other hand, he was going to go insane here alone with nothing to do. He missed Infospace, he missed Raven, he missed the city, he missed his fucking shower and toilet.

Charles crouched to wipe the rusty water off the floor.

“Leave that,” Erik said, sounding angry at Charles for no reason. “I’m heading out to get us more food, a gasket, and the parts for the water pump. Do you want to come?”

 

* * *

This was how Charles found himself back in the car, nervous because nothing had been resolved between him and Erik, but still eager and excited at the prospect of seeing more of his surroundings and actually getting to know this part of Old Europe. The rain had stopped, giving way to sun again, and the air had warmed up, so it was nice to have their windows rolled down. They drove for about half an hour, mostly on gravel roads but sometimes on grass, and they even put in a few miles on old cracked asphalt before they reached another compound—one that was in much better shape than the one they were staying in. There was a red brick house, a barn, and additional buildings, all made of concrete, glass, and modern steel alloys. Huge, glistening harvesters stood in a neat row underneath a light steel roof. Behind the buildings, fields extended up to the horizon, striped yellow and green like a giant checkerboard.

Upon their arrival, two medium-size dogs with short legs and curved tails ran toward them, barking. Charles froze with his hand on the clutch, not accustomed to real animals, but since Erik didn’t seem to be fazed at all, Charles followed him, making sure not to make any rapid movements as they strode steadily toward the brick house.

A brunette in jeans and a dark-blue T-shirt exited the house waving to Erik. She whistled and the dogs stopped sniffing at Charles and Erik to run back toward her. The woman approached them, dogs in tow wagging their tails and jumping, and she kissed Erik on the cheek.

“You look worse for wear. Long night?” she asked, and before Erik managed to reply she added, “Is this Charles, then?”

“Yes,” Erik said. “Charles, this is Magda, my—“

“Wife,” the woman said, making Erik scowl and leaving Charles perplexed. _Wife?_

He shook Magda’s extended hand and murmured his proper “Nice to meet you” with the brightest smile he could muster. Her grip was firm and warm, and her brown eyes were crinkled with sincere amusement.

“Don’t worry, Charles,” she said while gesturing for them to follow her to the house. “I may still legally be Mrs. Lehnsherr, but Erik and I haven’t been together for almost twenty years now. You’re more than welcome to have a go at him.”

“Magda!” Erik said with a hint of warning in his voice, while Charles was trying to process all that was going on here.

Inside, the house looked no different than Charles’s own apartment. Modern furniture and high-tech equipment were arranged in a functional and stylish way. Magda led them to the kitchen’s dining area, where shiny appliances stood atop an antique wooden counter. An open laptop sat on a glass kitchen table, hooked to a bundle of cords and transmitters and a set of chips all wired together.

“Sorry for the mess,” Magda said, opening a cabinet to get cups and retrieving something that looked like organic orange juice from the fridge. “I had a holo-conf this morning and my satellite receiver was being a dick again, so I had to improvise.”

“Do you mean this has Infospace access?” Charles asked. His fingers almost twitched with anticipation.

“Well, sort of. Holo-calls cut in and out, so I don’t recommend them, but the comm app and all the rest works fine. Help yourself if you want. The passcode is 123456.”

“Really,” Erik scoffed, sitting down at the other side of the glass table.

Magda shrugged and placed the juice in front of Charles and Erik. “It’s not like anyone wants to look at the mundane data on my laptop. What do I need passwords for?”

Up close and in the bright kitchen light, Charles could see that there was something odd about the skin on the left side of Magda’s face and on her left hand. It was a shade lighter and pinker than her natural tone, as if she’d been patched up. She noticed him staring and gave him a small smile. “Skin transplant after radiation burns.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Charles started but she waved him off.

The laptop in front of Charles was a recent model and it booted instantly, opening the default comm-app on the main screen. Charles’s hands almost shook, and he had to wipe them on his T-shirt before he tapped in his login and password. It was way easier to control the inflow of information in full immersion, when Charles was able to perceive everything simultaneously on various levels of his attention. It was more difficult to follow data as it appeared on the laptop screen. He didn’t even try to scroll through _all_ of his incoming messages. This text-based communication felt ancient, redundant and painfully slow, but Charles wasn’t going to complain.

He dived into his most recent messages and ignored most of the blinking notifications, apart from one from Darwin—a good hacker and even better friend that Charles had met back when he’d still been working for the agency.

_U alive?_ Popped on Charles’s comm window.

Charles typed back, _Barely >>> holidays_

The dots on the comm started to blink immediately.

_Holidays my ass. Where r u?_

Charles hovered over the keys. Apart from the Brotherhood members, no one knew where he was. Perhaps it was good to have at least one person from the outside aware of his situation.

_Europe. Old Germany._

The dots blinked again. _Fucking hell. Pics or it didn’t happen. Want to see! Holo?_

Charles shook his head as if Darwin could see him. _Not enough net. I’m on a friend’s laptop._

_LAPTOP??????_ Charles could almost hear the gasp in that sentence. _R u ok tho?_

He had to consider his answer. Was he all right? He was… better, that was certain, in so many ways, and yet in some ways he was very much not okay. He didn’t know.

_Fine._ And as an afterthought he added, _All clear in the space?_

The dots blinked for a long time before the reply appeared, and in the meantime Charles managed to open various browsers and scroll through news and independent conversations. He wished he could access 3D space, but he’d need at least his glasses for that.

The comm beeped.

_Emma had an upgrade. Not sure what scale. No info about effects. Backroom is non-accessible, sealed shut or moved._

Charles felt unease settling in his guts. If the second layer of Infospace, the so-called backroom that was used for coding and decoding, was not accessible, something very alarming must be going on.

_Shut?_ He asked. _By whom?_

_IDK. 2nd AI? Better get yr ass back, X._

Charles inhaled. Second AI. Could it be the Brotherhood’s Jean? Or was there yet another one? Was Emma’s upgrade merely routine? He needed to get back, dig around. He looked up from the laptop, stunned that it was way darker in the kitchen than the last time he’d looked around. He was alone, and he hadn’t even noticed when Erik and Magda had left. His back was stiff. How long had he been checking the data? And he hadn’t even learned anything new, he thought, annoyed with himself.

He heard some commotion at the back of the house.

_Gotta go._ He typed. _Don’t go near the ICE wall, ok?_

Darwin’s dot was switched to red now and Charles wasn’t sure his message had gotten through.

“What’s wrong?” Erik asked when he entered the kitchen with Magda.

“I don’t know,” Charles said. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Erik, but if he was going to work with Jean for the Brotherhood, he’d have to share his findings anyway. “It looks like someone’s blocking access to the parts of the net that we—I mean those who write or mend the code—usually occupy. Could it be your Jean?”

Erik visibly tensed. “I don’t think so, no. Let me…” He extended his hand for the laptop and it slid toward him on the table, leaving Charles already missing whatever connection with Infospace he’d had and worried that he hadn’t closed all his browsers and personal comm. Erik barely touched the keys, his fingers ghosting over the keyboard. His brows were drawn together in concentration.

“Raven says it’s not ours,” Erik finally said, and God, Charles had forgotten to message Raven. She must be worried about him and he couldn’t rely on whatever Erik was telling her. As if sensing Charles’s thoughts, Erik looked up from the screen. “She says hi and wants you to have _fun_.”

Fun would be a bit of a stretch, but certainly Charles was in a much better situation than he’d anticipated. If only Erik was clearer about his intentions.

“They are monitoring the net and will contact us in case anything new happens.” Erik closed the laptop’s lid and turned to Magda, who was moving around the kitchen, taking containers of food out of the fridge. “But we need to hurry and get back right away. I’m worried about the backrooms being sealed off. It’s never happened before.”

Charles shoot him a glance. He hadn’t suspected Erik would even know what the backrooms were, not to mention having a deeper knowledge about it.

“How strong are you feeling?” Erik asked.

“I’m fine,” Charles said. He’d been fine before, as well. The rest had done him some good, undoubtedly, but he was ready to go back to work now.

The oven dinged and Magda came over with steaming plates of food. “You can’t head out right away, so at least get a meal and drive back tomorrow morning. I’ll get the samples and data for you to take. For now, let’s eat. I’ve had no time to make you a decent meal, so the precooked spaghetti will have to do, but at least it’s not your usual high-processed sawdust.” She put the plates on the table. “Erik, do you mind getting us some wine?”

Erik stood up and took out a bottle of wine out of the fridge, then came back with it and the glasses. He looked worried, but Magda was probably right—they couldn’t do much until tomorrow.

The wine tasted amazing, fresh and light with a hint of flowers, and Charles wondered if this was some pre-Crash vintage.

“How come you have all that tech and net access here?” he asked once he’d polished off his food, trying hard not to make _any_ of the sounds Erik was talking about last night, although it was hard while eating something this good.

“We smuggled it in,” Erik said, looking oddly pleased with himself. “Magda runs the Brotherhood affairs in Europe. Without her we’d be still in the dark when it comes to radiation measurements.”

Erik was watching Magda with a smile that suggested something Charles could only identify as fondness and pride.

“What exactly do you do, then?” he asked, curious, trying not to dwell on the essence of the relationship between Magda and Erik.

“I cultivate various plants and monitor the soil contamination levels.” That explained all the agricultural machines. “And we try to cure some of the people, only this…” She sighed. “I wish we had more resources to help. With what we have, we can merely ease the symptoms and hope that our labs will miraculously produce something that will help.”

“You have labs here?” Charles was even more intrigued now by all the possibilities, all the knowledge here not accessible from anywhere else. He almost shivered with the desire to see it all.

“Yes,” Magda said. “I’ll show you around next time.”

Maybe it was that prospect—of coming back here, seeing all the tech and research—or the anticipation of the next day, or maybe it was the wine, but it all made Charles feel giddy. He hadn’t touched alcohol in so long it was affecting him pretty quickly now. His fingers were already slightly numb and the room was tilting a bit. He wanted to both stay here and learn more, and also go back to the house so he could lie down. Erik, as tired as he must have been after last night, looked so relaxed and _happy_ here for just a few moments, and Charles didn’t want to spoil this. He settled back in his chair, warm from the food and wine, and decided to interrogate Magda more about the Brotherhood’s findings and actions.

It was late when they both climbed back into the car and Erik put the car in reverse. The circuits in his hands were lightly lit red again, so they were visible in the dim light of the late evening. “Thanks for the parts,” Erik said to Magda, who was closing the door behind Charles.

“You’re welcome,” Magda said, and then she leaned over Charles through his open window to whisper, “Take good care of Erik. He’s never brought anyone here before.” Then aloud she added, “It was nice to meet you, Charles. I hope you’ll be back again.”

Erik hummed something in lieu of reply, and soon they were heading back to the compound, moving slowly along the dark roads. Charles kept glancing at Erik, trying to read him. 

“So,” Charles said once they reached the grass driveway. “You’re married.”

“I knew you’d fixate on this,” Erik groaned. “Magda and I—we met in the camp, managed to escape together. Felt better not to be alone.” He shrugged but then tensed again. “She got pregnant, and it seemed like the proper thing to do was to get married. And then… The radiation levels were apparently too high.” Erik was silent for a moment, his grip on the wheel tight. “After we’d lost Anya, we didn’t care about legal stuff anymore.”

Charles didn’t comment on this, even though he wanted to at least say he was sorry. But it was pretty clear from Erik’s tone of voice that he wouldn’t welcome neither compassion nor any questions about it.

The house was dark and cold yet again, the fire in the hearth only a distant memory now. While Charles went to the kitchen to put a kettle on, because tea would be heaven, Erik vanished to the back of the house. The tea bags were dry, and they crumbled in Charles’s fingers, spilling all over the counter. It made Charles angry with his own clumsiness and at the same time unhappy to the point of weeping. Perhaps all the latest events were getting to him after days of peaceful quiet.

“The water’s fixed. Both in here and in the bathroom,” Erik said, storming into the kitchen and turning on the tap with a wave of his hand. The sink spluttered rusty water again, but after a moment it turned into a clear flow. “Not that it matters now since we’re heading back first thing in the morning,” Erik added, and Charles was sure he wasn’t imagining the bitterness in Erik’s voice.

“Is there hot water in the shower?” Charles asked, passing a cup of tea to Erik, who looked at it with a stunned expression before obediently taking a sip.

Erik nodded. “Yes. Should last for ten minutes or so. The boiler is old and small, and doesn’t hold its temperature that well anymore.” He was standing close again, his body almost brushing Charles’s.

_Now or never_ , Charles thought. Now, or he’d never know.

It felt like diving off the high board. “Want to share with me?” And when Erik didn’t answer, probably not sure what Charles was offering, he added, “Seems unfair I should use up all the hot water for myself.” He reached for Erik, ignoring the slight shakiness of his motion, and pulled gently on Erik’s hand with the tea until Erik placed it back on the counter. Then Charles pushed Erik’s fingers off the cup and entwined them with his own. He leaned up, standing on his toes to almost touch Erik’s lips while he said, “I’d very much like your company.”

“Yes,” Erik said, voice sharp as a gunshot. “Yes, I want to share.”

And it was probably such a bad idea, the worst given the situation they were in, but Charles couldn’t deny himself. Their time together would be over soon, much sooner than Charles had expected. Tomorrow they would go back, and he’d hook into Infospace to help the Brotherhood… and then Charles would go back to his life, and this crazy adventure with Erik would be a thing of the past. Surely he could go easy on himself this once and allow this thing to happen.

He hadn’t been aware of his body for such a long time. If it had been possible, he would have imprinted his mind directly into Infospace to live as a body-free construct, like those ghosts in the machine in old science fiction stories. His physical self had been an obstacle, a useless form demanding nutrients and sleep when all he wanted was to stay connected to pure data.

But now he could use his body, and use it in a way he’d almost forgotten. He could lead Erik to the bathroom and feel Erik stepping close behind him. He could turn around to put his hands on Erik’s shoulders and brush his fingers over the circuits and lean muscles of Erik’s sculpted form.

He gripped the edge of his sweatshirt to pull it off himself, along with his T-shirt, and he watched Erik mirror his movements before he stood bare-chested in front of Charles—fit and beautiful and so perfect Charles could stare at him for hours as if he were a piece of art.

The jeans were next and Charles hesitated. He’d never been self-conscious, but this was crossing the line; after this there’d be no returning from wherever this was heading.

“Let me,” Erik said, and he stepped closer to Charles, undoing the buttons on Charles’s jeans with long, strong fingers. Charles was enthralled and already achingly hard, his cock tenting his boxers in an obscene way when Erik pushed his jeans down. Erik cupped him through the fabric and brought Charles closer with an arm around Charles’s back. It was both a delight and a torment to feel Erik’s still-clothed erection like this. Charles certainly had slept around enough to call himself an expert, but all this was somehow new and exhilarating. He pushed his hands down Erik’s jeans and into his boxers, squeezing Erik’s ass and pulling him in. Their cocks ground against each other slowly, deliciously.

“Shower,” he reminded Erik, and he moved his hand to the front of Erik’s waist to return the favor of unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down along with Erik’s underwear and then dropping his own before he tugged on Erik’s hand so they could step into the shower together.

The shower stall was a tiny little cubicle with yellow, cracked tiles on the wall, a sliding door that didn’t quite close, and a showerhead attached to the wall on a wobbly hook at the level of Charles’s chest. When he and Erik squeezed inside together, there was very little space to maneuver. The water pressure was so low that the trickle was barely enough to wet their bodies, but to Charles this was heaven in so many ways—with Erik pressed close to his body, Erik’s arms around him, Erik’s cock hard and brushing against his own.

“I bet this isn’t what you had in mind.” Erik said with amusement as he reached over Charles to grab a bar of soap from a plastic shelf attached to the wall and lost his balance a little bit. He leaned harder against Charles.

“I can’t complain.” Charles smiled and looked up, cursing the height difference between them that would necessitate him standing on his toes to reach Erik’s lips. Thankfully Erik bent down, wrapping his arm tighter around Charles to hold him still, and kissed him deeply, slipping his tongue into Charles’s mouth. Now _this_ was _exactly_ what Charles had in mind. He let Erik lather them both up. This was happening. This was really happening.

As Charles watched Erik’s elegant hands pass over his freckled, pale skin, he felt somewhat unworthy of this statuesque man and Erik’s electric touch. The slight tingling of the current from Erik’s circuits was unmistakable even here, with all the water. For a moment Charles wondered if he should worry about being electrocuted, but then Erik wrapped his fingers tightly around their cocks and Charles thought he didn’t really care. Erik held their cocks together, using the soap and water as slick, and he stroked them once, making them both groan and thrust forward. Charles let his own hand fall until he placed it over Erik’s hand to clasp it harder.

Oh God, this pace was… Charles couldn’t hold out for long. He’d need to slow down or he’d come, but Erik was stroking them faster, gripping them tighter, and kissing Charles deeper. Erik’s teeth skimmed over Charles’s lips. His breath was hot when he exhaled into Charles’s mouth. And Christ, Charles had to let go, and he was coming, his whole body spasming hard, on and on.

“I’m sorry, fuck, sorry.” He tried to catch his breath, still shaking from the orgasm and feeling utterly pathetic because it’d been, what, five minutes of groping in the shower and he’d lost it already?

“Stop it. Charles, you are…” But whatever Erik wanted to say was lost when Charles kneeled in front of him.

Fuck, but Erik’s cock was beautiful. It was straight and thick and big. Unlike Charles, Erik was cut, and that made the experience even more fascinating—the cockhead was prominent and smooth, glistening with water.

Charles licked his lips, about to take Erik in, when the water turned from warm to cold and he twitched, trying to get as far from the spray as possible.

“Wait,” Erik said. His eyes were on Charles, darkened with want, and Charles shuddered, because fuck the cold water—no one had ever looked at Charles the way Erik was looking at him right now.

Erik placed one hand on the showerhead and the water warmed up again. The bastard had never needed to share it with Charles—he could’ve heated the water any time he wanted to.

“Mmm,” Charles hummed while twirling his tongue slowly around Erik’s cockhead. He pulled back. “This is nice,” he said, looking up and licking his lips, making it a bit of a show for Erik’s sake.

Erik’s other hand slipped down to stroke Charles’s cheek where it was bulging with Erik’s cock, and then moved back to cup Charles’s head.

“Charles…” Erik leaned his head back on the tiles and closed his eyes, while Charles kept sucking, reveling in the way Erik’s fingers tightened in his hair. When Erik tensed and tried to pull back, Charles placed both of his hands on Erik’s ass, gripping the taut flesh there and keeping Erik firmly in place, then pulling him even deeper into his throat, wanting this, wanting all of this so fucking much.

He swallowed around Erik’s cock and that must have been too much, because suddenly Erik was pulsing hard, his come salty-sweet on Charles’s tongue. Charles was dizzy from the need to get _more_ of this, more of Erik.

He yelped when the water turned freezing again, but Erik’s shaking hands were pulling him up.

“I’m sorry, sorry.” Erik took his turn with apologies. “It’s hard to focus on two things at once. Let’s… shall we move from here?”

 

***

Charles should have felt sated and happy from the mutual orgasm. Instead he was jittery, still very much aroused, and anxious that this was it—that there would be no more intimacy between them in the future.

He sat on the bed, wet head cold in the chilly night air of the house. Erik came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, looking as uneasy as Charles felt. He stood in front of Charles, carefully avoiding Charles’s gaze but not leaving—and that was good, right? He could’ve just gone to the couch and that would have been that, but instead he’d come to Charles.

Charles reached for Erik and tugged on the towel, pulling Erik in.

“What do you want, Charles?” Asked any other way this might have sounded defensive, rude even, but with Erik’s deep voice sincere and velvety-smooth, it made Charles’s skin tingle.

What did he want? He wanted to grip Erik hard, push him onto the bed, and slam into him over and over. But he also wanted to be filled by Erik, possessed and overtaken, wrapped tightly in Erik's desire.

“Fuck me,” he said, but he sounded hoarse. He looked up, licked his lips, and said, clearer, “I want you to fuck me.”

“As in…?” Erik motioned to the bed.

“Yes, Erik. _As in_. Put your dick in me, please, okay?” Charles brought his face closer to Erik and nuzzled at him through the towel.

The responding twitch of Erik’s cock felt so good, Charles had to grip Erik harder, mouth at the bulge, and then breathe hot air over dampened cotton. Erik thrust forward, tangling his fingers in Charles’s wet locks.

“We don’t have anything,” he said.

Charles grinned wide, looking up again. “Oh, my friend, but we do. My bag—inner pocket.” And at Erik’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “Raven. Don’t even ask.”

“Bless Raven, then,” Erik said.

Charles tugged on Erik again, bringing him in for a kiss.

“How do you want me?” Erik asked, climbing on the bed to settle between Charles’s legs, not touching him just yet.

“Like this.” Charles couldn’t stop kissing him. He caressed Erik’s neck where the circuits were all joined together like a river’s end, marveling at how Erik’s whole body responded to the touch. He leaned up to catch Erik’s mouth with his own. Erik’s lips were swollen from the kisses and yet still firm and demanding, his breath hot and rapid.

“So good,” Charles thought, barely realizing he’d said it out loud. One night. One night and no more.

“Okay.” Erik sat back on his heels, uncapped the lube, and squirted some on his fingers. It felt a bit clinical, methodical when Erik brought his hand to Charles’s ass and brushed his slick fingers over Charles’s skin. He circled Charles’s hole with a fingertip and then pushed inside slowly and smoothly. Charles was looking at Erik’s hand moving in between his thighs. He felt tense and oddly distant, so different to the heated arousal of just a few minutes ago. Erik looked at him, searching for permission, and when Charles nodded he added a second finger, just as slowly and carefully as the first.

Charles could feel his face and chest coloring—whether with shame or want, he wasn’t sure—and he knew he couldn’t take this much longer, not with Erik being so _professional_ about it, so cautious.

“Come on,” he said. “I won’t break. I’m not made out of glass. I’ve done it before. Come _on._ ” He wasn’t lying. He’d been on the receiving end of anal sex often enough, even if not recently. It’d been a while, yes, but Charles just couldn’t take this _care_ , this _gentleness_ anymore.

Erik withdrew his fingers and reached for the condom. His arms trembled slightly when he braced himself and then pushed inside Charles.

The intrusion burned, stretching Charles to the point where he thought he could not take it, after all. He breathed steadily and stayed still while Erik stilled too, giving him time to adjust. Charles wanted to say that he was good, that he was ready, that all he wanted right now was for Erik to stop babying him and just fuck him already.

Then Erik pushed deeper, and deeper, until he bottomed out and Charles thought that he’d go crazy with the sensation. He was stretched and filled, so full his body was almost split in half. And when Erik drew back only to thrust again and again, setting a slow but steady rhythm, Charles found himself unable to form any words. He just moaned and moaned and gripped Erik’s back, digging his fingers into Erik’s flesh.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped on a particularly hard thrust, his eyes opening wide. “Oh God.”

Erik switched positions so he was leaning on his side, and he snaked his hand between their bodies to grip Charles’s cock, tugging on it fast and rough. And maybe it was Erik’s harsh electric touch, or maybe the deep thrusts, hitting Charles’s prostate with each roll and snap of Erik’s hips, but Charles was right _there_ before he knew it.

“Go on,” Erik whispered into his lips. “Charles, let me feel it.”

The orgasm that hit Charles was almost too much. His nerves were overloaded, body writhing and then stilling under Erik, who kept up his unrelenting pace, fucking Charles deep and hard through his climax, until Erik shuddered too and his cock started pulsing, buried deep in Charles. They collapsed then, Erik’s sweaty skin sticking to Charles.

Charles closed his eyes and let Erik just lie there on top of him, warm, and spent and relaxed. Later, when Erik slowly withdrew his softening cock and rolled off to take care of the condom, Charles didn’t even move a finger, too exhausted to bother. He only hummed with approval when Erik came back, wrapping his arms around Charles and dragging the covers over them both.

He didn’t care what the morning would bring.

 


	8. Chapter 8

8.

 

“Charles? Charles, wake up. We have to go.”

Charles grumbled, struggling to open his eyes. He felt warm and sated, the distant ache in his body a reminder of a fulfilling exertion. All he wanted was to do was turn on his side, duck under the blanket, and sleep some more. But when he heard a laugh he decided to peek through his eyelashes.

Erik was sitting on the bed, already dressed in black jeans and a dark sweater. His hand was resting on Charles’s arm, steady and warm, but with a sigh Erik squeezed Charles’s arm briefly and then stood up. He collected a few things scattered around the bedroom and walked out.

“We’re leaving in half an hour. Get dressed. We’ll eat on the way,” he shouted from the living room.

As much as Charles wanted to stay in bed, reliving the events of last evening and wishing for a repeat performance in the daylight, he knew that they really should be going. He dragged himself to the bathroom, thankful for the water, lukewarm trickle that it was. He scrubbed the dried come from his skin and brushed his teeth. In the old, darkened mirror, his reflection looked sleep-rumpled but more rested than he’d been in ages.

Cold early morning air blew into the hall when Charles emerged from the house, still yawning. He threw his duffel bag into the truck, where Erik was rearranging some items.

“Shall I help close down the house?”

“It’s all right,” Erik said, motioning to the door. The lock gave a low click, and the humming generator and water pump slowly shut down.

As they rolled toward the exit of the compound, Charles shot one last glance at the house. He’d miss this place. Despite the boredom and the primitive conditions, he’d grown to kind of like the dusty peace of it.

He wondered if all of this—the house in old Europe, the beauty of this place, and Erik’s interest in Charles—was part of some plot planned by the Brotherhood to make him more cooperative. If so, it was working.

Evil plan or no, he couldn’t deny that last night had been mind-blowing. Never before had he let himself get so lost in the moment as with Erik. Never before had he felt such a powerful desire to touch and be touched, be possessed by someone. And he couldn’t deny that he really liked Erik—not just Erik’s body but Erik as a person. But was any of it real? To distract himself from that dangerous train of thought he asked, “Could you tell me more about Jean?”

Erik glanced at him. The early morning light was still soft, and the grass glistened from dew in front of the rolling car. It made Erik look softer than usual, more considerate, and maybe a little bit sad.

“Jean is…” Erik paused and then smiled. “You’ll like her. She’s quite incredible. Hank programmed most of her, but then we had other people working on her too. Even Raven had a go. So Jean’s got a whole range of responses and emotional intelligence and a very human-like unpredictability. Of course she’s just a fast program with quick adaptability, but it’s like she has real personality, you know?”

Charles wasn’t surprised by the idea of an AI having a personality. He’d interacted with enough AIs to know that, despite what people might think, the best ones were way more than just high-tech computing machines. He could recognize them in immersion the way he could recognize an old friend. Each had its own quirks and predilections, just like people.

Erik continued, “And she’s… gentle. I can’t do full immersion like you can, but I don’t know how else to put it. It’s like I can _feel_ her.” His tone of voice was so fond, as if he were speaking of his child, and perhaps that was what Jean was to him.

“I’m really looking forward to working with her,” Charles said, serious. “What will we have to do, exactly? You said you wanted us to override Emma?”

“Actually, Jean’s powerful enough to crack any code she encounters, even Emma, but she’ll need a human anchor. A real person whose worldview can’t be changed by programming, and who will be able to make unethical choices if necessary.

“Emma will have to be blocked long enough for you to lead us to Shaw. He might have some additional defenses, but I’ll take care of it.”

Charles nodded. “I’m afraid that with the backroom sealed off it might be hard to do, but I’ll do what I can.”

They’d reached the entrance to the Tunnel, unguarded on this side, and they were now slowly rolling among piles of garbage. How different Charles felt now than when they’d been driving the other direction just a few weeks ago. Now he felt pleasant anticipation and an eagerness to act. And he was lucid. He was looking forward to the encounter with Jean and to trying out the Brotherhood’s immersion set, and excited to push himself to the edge of his new limits.

But it was the thrill of being needed and—as much as he was reluctant to admit it to himself—of helping Erik, that had his stomach fluttering pleasantly. He still wasn’t sure exactly what Erik wanted from him and what he himself was hoping for with Erik. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that he could pursue whatever they’d started together. That’d mean that Charles would have to give up his life and join Erik’s organization to fight for a cause he considered not only hopeless, but also fundamentally wrong.

Getting control of Infospace to keep it from falling apart, and preventing the world from crumbling into chaos, were of course the priorities, but apart from that Erik’s views were way too radical and too authoritarian for Charles’s liking. He didn’t think a centralized government could get them anywhere, not with the threat of a dictator who’d control a powerful AI the way Shaw did now. It’d mean exchanging one evil for another. But perhaps Erik could be convinced otherwise? With time and patience, maybe he could bring Erik to a compromise?

Charles was musing over it as the car rolled through an area with surprisingly more debris than he remembered. Erik maneuvered around piles of perishable waste and discarded old vehicles. They had to halt in front of a bigger obstacle. Erik seemed to tense, and when Charles made a move to get out of the car to try to clear the way, he caught Charles’s arm, keeping him still.

“What?” Charles started to say, but before he could say anything more a group of armed men emerged from behind the barricade.

“Don’t move,” Erik whispered. His gun flew out of the bag tucked under Charles’s legs and Erik’s fingers wrapped around the grip.

One of the men, holding a machine gun or a laser blaster (Charles wasn’t sure from that distance), slowly approached them.

“Get out of the car.” He motioned with the weapon. “Now.”

Charles wasn’t sure what he expected, but surely it wasn’t Erik slipping his gun under his shirt and holding his hands up in the air for the assailants to see through the window. The guy with the blaster moved closer to the door, opened it, and waved at Erik again.

“Get out! Move. You too!” He nodded to Charles, who couldn’t believe that Erik had just listened to some thugs. Instead of following Erik out of the car he lingered in his seat.

One of the men was plundering the back of the car, rummaging through the bags with food containers, clothes, and blankets. Two other men were standing on the ground with their weapons pointed at Charles and Erik.

“Stand there.” The man said to Erik, pointing to the front of the barricade. “Hands in the air where we can see.”

“I’m sure we can find a better solution,” Charles reasoned, trying to sound very calm and reassuring. “We need to get to the other side of the Tunnel.”

“Oh yeah?” The man by the car laughed. He took hold of Charles, pulled him out of the car, and threw him to the ground.

Erik made a move to get to Charles, but when the guy standing over Charles pressed the tip of his weapon to Charles’s head he stilled. It was surprising he hadn’t used his abilities to smash the guns and overpower the men, but right now Charles was way too panicked to focus on that. He mostly lay there praying, _Leave us alone. Go away. Don’t harm us. Just go._

“Leave them,” the guy who was standing nearest to Charles and Erik ordered. “Let’s move.” He got inside the car, revving the engine while the others clung to the sides and the trunk. The gears made a horrible grinding sound as they lurched forward, and Charles could practically feel Erik’s internal flinch at that. All the guns were still pointed at them, and Erik stood still until the car was out of sight. Then he turned to Charles, rage almost spilling out of him, making Charles take two steps back.

“Are you fucking suicidal?”

“What?” Charles’s cheeks flushed, his hands shook, and he just couldn’t understand why all that anger was directed at him. It was Erik who’d stood and done nothing to prevent those thugs from stealing all of their belongings.

Erik waved his hand, pointing to where their car had been. “What made you think this was important enough to fucking risk your _life_ for it?”

“I thought…” Charles didn’t know what to say. “How are we going to get back now? Fuck. Why didn’t you _do_ anything?”

“Because, Charles, unlike you, I am not risking your life for meaningless gear!” He radiated fury when he turned around and started walking past the debris and toward the inner parts of the Tunnel.

Charles hurried after Erik, completely perplexed. Was this a display of Erik’s concern for Charles’s life? Or was Erik just worried about losing Charles’s abilities as an asset for the Brotherhood?

“Where are we going?”

Erik didn’t respond. He kept walking, not looking back to see if Charles was keeping up. He turned into one of the passages through the maintenance line. Soon they were walking through garbage and making their way toward the more crowded areas among the vendors. The light was dull and the smell was atrocious, as if the stench of waste had been mixed with the sickening fragrance of unwashed bodies, urine and mold. Charles coughed and covered his face, trying to breathe through the fabric of his shirt. He managed to catch up and was walking almost arm in arm with Erik now.

“Those were the Tunnel Rats. Did you see their scars?” Charles hadn’t, and even if he had it wouldn’t have meant anything to him. “The marks from fire damage on their hands. They are insane. There’s no reasoning with them. Their brains are damaged from the radiation. They were carrying rewired shotguns with synthetic bullets that tear through flesh and burn you from the inside,” Erik said. “Even if I could have gotten hold of their weapons, one of them could have fired. We were just fucking lucky that they left us alive.” He turned to Charles, grabbing his arm hard. He looked at him as if he wanted to say something more, scold him or maybe hug him, Charles wasn’t sure, but in the end he just let go and walked on.

A ventilation point was in front of them, the enormous arms of the fan turning slowly, moving the stale air around without much improvement to either the oxygen level or the stench. They walked past it and beyond, to where the old trains started. They were mostly off-track, pushed to the walls and converted into sheds for living. Erik navigated through the small passageways between the trains, walking steadily as if he belonged here. No one was paying them much attention. People were occupied with their own doings—cooking on little magnetic stoves, sitting passively on old car seats watching holo-displays.

As Charles followed Erik he wondered if they were going to walk the whole way out. From what he remembered they had at least thirty miles to go, so they’d reach the end no sooner than in eight or nine hours. And they were already in a hurry.

Erik ducked under one of the makeshift doorframes and led Charles to a rundown church. It was made of three train cars put together and full of Old Religion’s symbols: paintings of angels, statues of Mother Mary with Child, crosses, but also Tarot drawings. It smelled strongly of incense.

“Marg?” Erik called out.

A woman in a long dress and a horned hat came out from the back train car. Her skin was greenish and her eyes gleamed in an unnatural way. She looked at them with an expression of deep displeasure.

“Magneto.” She acknowledged Erik with a nod.

“I need to use your comm.” Erik sounded polite and calm, but their mutual aversion to one another was palpable. Charles expected the woman to deny them help, but she nodded curtly and moved out of the way without a word. Erik walked past her and vanished in the back, leaving Charles alone with her.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Charles said, smiling apologetically.

The woman just stared at Charles, who started to feel uncomfortable.

“The Tunnel Rats stopped us on the way,” he said, just to break the silence, but he wasn’t rewarded with any answer. Thankfully, Erik was already coming back.

“Thank you, Marg.” He nodded to her.

She turned away from them and said, “You can wait at the back.” Then she vanished behind a beaded curtain.

Erik squeezed Charles’s arm to let him know they were moving. They walked behind the train cars to a small area that would have been called a yard if it were outside. The place was moldy and smelly, cluttered with broken furniture and bits of machinery. Above them a solitary maintenance lamp was on, so it was rather dark. There was a pile of rugs on the ground, and Erik sat on top of it and took two protein bars out of his pocket. He patted the space next to him and offered one of the bars to Charles, who sighed and sat down. He unwrapped his bar and took a bite, making a face at the taste. He missed their farmhouse breakfasts already. He had a feeling he was going to miss them for the foreseeable future.

“She didn’t seem too friendly,” he said over a mouthful of mush.

“Marg is an ally.” Erik said. “We don’t particularly like each other, though.”

Charles laughed. “No shit. How come you know your way around here so well, anyway?”

“I lived here for a little while.” Erik was arranging the rugs to make them more comfortable. He leaned against the train’s wheels and stretched out his long legs in front of him.

It hit Charles how little he still knew about Erik. He’d deluded himself thinking that after a few weeks in Erik’s company he’d gotten to know him quite well, but he’d only seen glimpses of Erik’s past and personality. Charles didn’t believe that one could truly _know_ another person—it was just impossible unless someone actually could enter another man’s mind—but God, did he want to know Erik: all of him, every single thought, every memory, every pain and joy Erik had ever felt. And Christ, this made Charles hurt inside, and suddenly he knew he was fucked way more than he’d ever suspected.

He was in love, God help him. He’d fallen in love with Erik.

He sat there next to Erik, with his eyes open wide, unseeing and breathing too fast, because this sudden, horrible knowledge was madness. This couldn’t be.

“Try to nap,” Erik said, oblivious to Charles’s turmoil. “It might take some time before Logan gets here, and you’ll have to get hooked up to the deck as soon as we get back. You need to rest.”

Charles wanted to laugh. Yes, try to nap when the universe was exploding in Charles’s head. He wasn’t even sure it was safe enough for them to nap here, but he wasn’t going to question Erik’s judgment now; he was the only one of them thinking clearly at all.  

And he actually _was_ exhausted, even though it was only afternoon. All the adrenaline from the assault, and then his sudden revelation, was wearing off. He scooted closer to Erik.

After a moment Erik wrapped his arm around Charles. “Sorry,” he said.

“Why?” Charles wasn’t sure what exactly was Eric apologizing for.

Erik sighed and tightened his grip on Charles. “For everything. Yelling at you. Letting them take the car.”

Charles leaned against Erik. “I’m not a child. I’ll be fine.”

He expected Erik to laugh at him. Erik had had to baby Charles from the moment they’d met, and Charles was a stranger here, out of his element. He’d almost gotten them killed because of his ignorance. But Erik just nodded and hummed his agreement and closed his eyes. Charles sat for a while longer, thinking of this place underground and its strange population, of the state of danger everyone had to exist in in here and the disgusting conditions: the smell, the lack of light. How could Erik, strong and full of highly contained energy, endure being closed off in a dirty, confined place like this?

Charles didn’t even notice when he dozed off.

 

* * *

“Fuck me, bub, but you must’ve made an impression on the shark-man for him to not notice those punks setting up a trap.” Logan seemed way too pleased by the news of their assault.

Erik on the other hand looked stormy and agitated. “I was distracted.”

Logan laughed. “I bet you were. Well done, little one.” He turned to Charles, winking. “You look way less like shit today.”

Charles wasn’t sure if he should be thankful for the compliment or offended by the rudeness of it. In the end, he cracked a reluctant smile.

They all climbed onto Logan’s vehicle—a monstrous hover-bike, battered and dusty. There was enough space for all three of them on the seat, but still Charles had to press his chest tightly to Erik’s back to keep from falling off. He breathed in the scent of Erik’s leather jacket and fought the urge to snuggle even closer.

They made their way back to the maintenance part of the Tunnel and then drove fast, Logan maneuvering easily among the garbage and vending stalls and people.

The exit to the Tunnel was fully blocked, but the soldiers stood straighter on seeing Logan and moved the wire barricade to let them through. There was a nervous energy in the air; the soldiers with their machine guns moved around in groups, watching their surroundings with sharp eyes.

Logan looked back and told Erik, “I hope you’re ready because it looks like the world’s going straight to hell. Everything’s closed down, and I hear the Tube trains will be on quarantine soon. We better hurry.”

They rode fast, and despite their dire situation Charles was enjoying the ride. The air swooshed in his ears and messed up his hair. Erik’s warm body was pressed close to his front, sending tingles up his torso. The sense of adventure was thrilling and scary. The checkpoint was crowded this time, people lining up in front of closed gates, angry voices coming from everywhere. Logan stopped and asked the person next to them something in French that Charles couldn’t decipher. Then he cursed and started the hover-bike again, turning it right along the white wall of the border. Charles didn’t have to ask to know what was happening—the border was closed and he’d have to trust Logan’s knowledge of the terrain and hope he’d get them through somehow. The drove for another hour, and Charles’s arms were getting stiff from holding on so tight, his ears hurt from the wind, and he was getting colder. It was dark already, the night black without any lights. They entered a forest and Logan maneuvered around the trees, slowing down a bit in the darkness. Eventually he cut the engine and they all dismounted the bike. Logan took out a LED flashlight from his jacket, turned it on to low light, and they walked slowly and silently forward. There was a huge fence among the trees, buzzing with electrical current. Erik stood close to it and stretched out his hands. The wires of the fence bent, creating a passage large enough for them to squeeze through. Charles made his way first, followed by Erik, who closed the wires behind them.

“See ya,” Logan said. “Make sure you cut the fucker out. Au revoir, little one.” Logan’s teeth gleamed in the darkness.

* * *

It took them another two hours to get to the Tube trains on foot, first through the woods and then through the city.

Crowds were occupying the platform, people pushing and squeezing to get to the trains. This time around Charles was the first one to dive into the moving mass of people, using his elbows to make a passage.

 _Get out of the way. Let us through,_ he thought, clenching his teeth. His mantra must have worked because before they knew it they were on the platform and first in line for the door to open. They didn’t have passes, but the entrance gate with its chip detector was broken, and no one was able to stop them. Panicked staff was trying to push back the inflow of people and restore some order. Inside, every single seat and standing space was occupied, but miraculously they found one half-empty cabin at the end of the train where they squeezed together onto one seat, Charles half in Erik’s lap.

When the train left the station and hit pneumatic speed, Erik breathed out.

“Thank God.”

He took out his tablet and opened the text-comm app, tapping on it fast. After a moment he nudged Charles to show him the conversation.

Raven was sending out coordinates and lines of code in huge chunks.

“Can you figure it out?” Erik asked, and Charles frowned, trying to decipher the meaning behind the lines of numbers and letters.

“The backroom’s structure,” he said after a while. The code was familiar and yet broken in many places. “It looks damaged, though.”

Erik cursed. “So it really has begun.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo sorry for the wait. Secret Mutant and then Madness and Merlin Hols and work and family have consumed all my free time. If you are still reading this, let me assure you that I will finish this story! Not many chapters left after this one. Depending on how it goes I think only 2 more. :)

 9.

 

Azazel was waiting for them at the entrance to the sub-Atlantic Tube station, his red tail twitching nervously. The crowds were mad, and Charles and Erik had to push, almost swimming among the sea of bodies to get through customs and reach the exit gates. They squeezed into their vehicle, and Charles sat with his Infoglasses on for the hour ride to the Hive, relishing the warmth of Erik’s thigh next to him while they were both arranging their own pieces of the operation.

They entered the Hive through one of the many back entrances, zinging up empty elevators and crossing through narrow corridors until they reached Erik’s living quarters. If Azazel thought anything of that he didn’t comment, just nodded to them both and disappeared behind one of the black glass doors.

Erik’s place was astonishingly modest for a leader’s bedroom—just a tiny sleeping capsule, a built-in bathroom cabin, and an interactive desk with 3D display screens.

Erik undressed quickly, throwing his dirty clothes into a laundry container in the wall. Then he turned to Charles, not fazed at all by his own nakedness.

"I'm going to shower. Pick whatever clothes you want. The closet is there." Erik motioned to one of the walls where a small panel opened towards them. "Will you be okay with hooking up right away?"

For a moment Charles thought that Erik had gone mad and wanted to fuck in the middle of what seemed to be the beginning of the end of the world, but then he got the context and smiled. “Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll let Darwin and the others from the Backroom know, just in case I need help once I’m in.”

While Erik stepped into the shower cabin, Charles rummaged through the drawers, picking out a loose-fitting pair of dark sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He hovered over some boxers but it felt weird to borrow Erik's undies, so he just shrugged and closed the drawer. Going commando was comfortable enough, and it wasn’t as if anyone would notice or care anyway. He was going into Infospace for most the next few hours, or longer.

They switched places—Charles stepping into the shower and Erik moving to dress himself. There was something soothing in the way they moved without interrupting each other, as if they fit, as if they'd been a couple forever and knew their way around each other. It felt nice—odd, but comforting—and Charles thought that he wouldn’t mind having this every day for the rest of his life.

The hot, strong stream of water felt like heaven after their long journey, and Charles wished he could stay in the shower much longer, but through the foggy glass he could already see Erik gearing up. He looked like an assassin from old Japanese movies in his dark, slim-fitting clothes. Erik _was_ an assassin, after all, Charles mused. He sighed, shut off the water, and used one of the absorbent towels hanging on the rack. Erik watched him with an unreadable expression on his face, and not for the first time Charles wished he could know Erik's thoughts. Was he anxious about upcoming events? Was he as unhappy as Charles that their time together was over?

"Ready?" Erik asked when Charles tugged on the Velcro of his shoes, fastening them securely. "Come on."

No one moved when Erik strode into the open space of command open space, followed by Charles. They just looked up from their pads and went back to whatever they were doing, while Charles followed Erik to the familiar examination room with the immersion set. Hank and Raven were already waiting for them. Hank extended his hand, but before Charles could react, Raven enveloped Charles in a fierce embrace.

"Oh my God, Charles! I heard you were attacked. Are you're okay?"

"I'm fine!" Charles laughed, hugging Raven tighter. "Erik took good care of me."

"I’d kill him with my bare hands if he didn’t." She sniffed. "God, okay. You need to get ready."

She turned to Erik. "Everything is prepared for us to start. Janos is in position; he'll let us inside Shaw's Tower once Emma is neutralized by Charles and Jean. Azazel's waiting downstairs, and I'll follow you with Sean and Scott." 

Erik nodded. "Good. I'll be right back." He went out to the open space for more last minute planning.

Raven finally let go of Charles. She looked nervous, and her holo-tattoos kept flickering as if she wasn't sure what pattern she'd like to show. Finally, they settled, and she stood there blond-haired and blue-eyed in front of Charles. "Now it’s all in your hands, Charles. Or rather your head. Please be careful." 

"I will," Charles said, although he didn't really see any danger for him. After all he wasn't the one charging Shaw's Tower in the flesh. He was much more concerned about Raven running into action with Erik. She wasn't exactly a desk clerk, though, and he knew better than to reason with her. "You too, Raven. No taking stupid risks, okay?"

"Oh, please," she said on her way out, leaving Charles with Hank.

"Shall we begin?" Hank asked, already tapping on the screens to activate the scanning procedure. "We need to check you out first."

Charles felt okay but he wasn't going to argue. He walked over to the scanner and sat down. "No contrast?" he asked upon seeing that no IV was prepared for him.

"Better not," Hank said. "I'll hook you up to the deck as soon as we're done here, and I don't want your system to be overloaded with contrast on top of everything else. I'll give you nutrients and pseudo-caffeine before we begin, so you’ll be on full alert during the action, okay?"

Soon Charles was surrounded by the rattling of the scanner.

"All seems fine," Hank said even before the procedure was over. "No swelling anymore. How do you feel? Do you still have headaches?"

"No," Charles said, surprised that he hadn’t even noticed when they’d disappeared.

The panel door swooshed again, letting Erik in. "What does it look like? Is he okay to go?" Erik asked. 

Hank helped Charles hop off the table. "Yes," he said. "Let's start."

This was the moment Charles had been waiting for. Up till now he’d avoided looking at the immersion set, not wanting to jinx his luck, but now he turned and took in the whole complicated machinery laid out in front of him. It made his stomach twist with excitement and anxiety. Would that set work for him? It had been adjusted to his brain activity after the first scans, but there was always the risk of the set being incompatible. He walked slowly to the chair and gingerly stroked the helmet with his index finger. It was so beautifully made, with no hard edges, no unnecessary modules.

"Do you like it?" Erik asked. Charles hadn’t noticed when Erik came back and stood behind him. He could feel the smile in Erik's voice. 

"Yes," he said. "It’s amazing."

He sat on the chair, reclined back, and allowed Hank to shoot him up with more stabilizers before attaching all the electrodes.

"I'll do it," he said, taking the cord to plug himself into his socket. It slid in without fuss or scratching. Hank lowered the helmet. It was all ready.

Charles took a deep breath, but before he had a chance to say his usual "hit me," Erik cleared his throat. 

"Hank, can you leave us for a moment?"

"Of course." Hank fiddled with the wires he was holding and then walked to the adjoining room in which Charles had slept when he had been here for the first time.

Erik leaned down, placing his hands on both sides of the chair, his face level with Charles's.

"You do know what we're about to do tonight, right?" Erik asked.

Charles didn't answer, just gave Erik a look.

"I know that you’ll have others to help you, and that Jean will be there too, but… Charles, please be careful." Erik’s finger’s were soft and cool on Charles’s cheeks.

Charles smiled in acknowledgement.

“Promise me,” Erik said.

“I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

When Erik didn’t move, Charles repeated, “I promise. And you be careful too.”

“Yes.” Erik looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he just leaned closer and kissed Charles softly. It made Charles warm all over. It was one thing to be kissed in the heat of the moment, during sex, in private. But here, where anyone could walk in at any moment, and on the threshold of possibly the biggest terrorist action of the Post-Crash world, it held so much more meaning. Charles gave himself over to the kiss, deep and fierce, clutching at Erik’s shoulders. He wondered if this thing between them meant more for Erik—maybe as much as it meant for Charles.

When Erik withdrew, Charles opened his eyes and looked into Erik’s gray ones, searching for confirmation. He thought he found it.

Erik squeezed Charles’s hand once more and disentangled himself from Charles’s grip. He reached for a box that sat on top of Hank’s desk, retrieved a set of Infospace glasses, and put them on. Then he placed the attached ear-bud in his ear and tapped on the glasses, turning them on. They glowed white.

“So we can keep in touch,” Erik said, and opened the door to let Hank know he was ready. “Good luck to us.”

With that Erik was gone, and Hank went over to wrap monitoring tape around Charles’s wrists.

“I don’t intend to flatline on you here,” Charles joked.

“Better safe then sorry,” Hank muttered. “Go?”

Charles closed his eyes. “Hit me.”

* * *

 _Oh, Christ_. _Oh, fuck._

This was the first thing Charles thought, because the way he could feel Infospace now was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. God, was the Brotherhood’s set incredible. The rush of light, the explosion of consciousness all around, the sounds, the layers of data—it was more than an orgasm, more than a hit of good drugs. It felt like being shot straight to heaven, like being a God, with access to collective memory and infinite knowledge and no limitations. Even more exhilarating was the intimate touch of minds—other Infospace users and AI’s out there.

“Omnipresence and omni-consciousness,” Charles whispered, still giddy, breathing fast.

Via the back comm he heard Hank asking him if he was all right.

“So much better than all right,” he said. He took a few more breaths. “I’m going to dive in deeper now. Can you enter Erik’s connection data for me?”

The access code glared white, and Charles tugged on it, opening a second layer within his space, so he could keep tabs on Erik’s actions at all times. For now, Erik was in an elevator.

“Can you hear me, darlin’?” he drawled, feeling bold and strong. In the dull light of the industrial shaft he could see Erik’s grin reflected in the elevator’s door as he nodded, then shook his head in mocked annoyance and walked out of the building. Charles could follow his route without a problem, although it required his divided attention. It was always odd to see the world through someone else’s eyes, though, without the ability to look the way you wanted to, or react the way you’d like to, so for now Charles pushed the “compartment” with Erik’s data to the periphery of his vision and retrieved his own personal entry room into Infospace. He’d arranged the setting to make it look like a cozy living compartment with files and old-fashioned paper books representing various data bundles lying around in messy piles. It made it easier to operate when he could rely on easily-named folders assigned to the issues he was dealing with.

Sitting on Charles’s plush blue battered couch, in the soft glow of a table lamp, there was a young girl. She was slim and red-haired, and wore a simple light dress.

“Hello, Jean.” Charles said, sure that he’d guessed right.

She smiled. “So good to finally meet you, Professor X.”

“Ah, you know me by my nickname then.” He wondered how was it possible he’d never met her in Infospace before.

“I was a closed off system before,” she said, answering his thoughts. “I’m still new to all this.” She gestured to Charles’s room. “You’ll need to show me around.” She got up, straightened her dress, and walked right through the wall of Charles’s room, startling him. Logically, he knew Jean was a computer program and didn’t have to obey the laws of physics while in Infospace, but she looked and behaved so human it was hard not to think of her as a person.

Charles followed her out of the room, and then through a maze of common areas and e-shops. Fuck, did he miss this. He grinned when he flew over the solid black of the Bank of US. He landed in a small area styled to look like a yard behind a Victorian house, and Jane materialized right next to him.

“The Backroom?” she asked.

Charles nodded and pulled the virtual touchscreen to tap in the entry code. The wall flickered and zapped him with an electric pulse.

“What the…?” After what Darwin had told him, Charles didn’t expect to be let into the Backroom easily, but he didn’t think the security would turn against him.

“May I?” Jane asked, and when Charles made a “be my guest” gesture she placed both her hands on the wall. They glowed a dull light, reminding Charles of Erik’s arms seen in the dark of the cabin in Old Europe. She pressed on the bricks and her hands fell through them like through a holo-display. She then entered the crack in the code, and Charles quickly followed. She really was as good as Erik had said.

The inside of the Backroom was both familiar and terrifying, as most of the code walls were destroyed or frozen.

“Fuck,” Charles said. His initial plan was to enter the Backroom and simply collapse parts of Infospace around Emma, trapping the AI inside a loop of sorts. With the Backroom all messed up, he couldn’t alter the main structure, though.

"Not much left," Jean said, sounding strangely sad. Charles could feel waves of displeasure coming from her as she examined the disruption to the code.

"I'm afraid so," he agreed.

He wondered how long could the main structure of Infospace could hold if its foundations were so fractured. "Could you fix the basics?" he asked Jean. If they didn't do it, the whole system could collapse, and this was the exact thing Charles had been trying to prevent from happening since he first got his socket done.

Jean paused and then nodded. "Yes. I need about two hours and forty minutes though. You would be mostly on your own with Emma by the time I’m done."

"I'll take my chances," Charles said, pensive. “I might have some help, anyway,” he added, pulling up his comm.

"Good luck," he said to Jean, who smiled because luck was a concept AI's always struggled to understand. He left Jean in the Backroom, sneaking out through the same hole they'd got in, and opened a connection with Darwin.

"How would you like to crack Emma's frosty arse?" he asked, and Darwin's avatar—a huge head with three rows of teeth—grinned.

"You bet," he said.

Charles dove through several connection points, jumping and sneaking through narrow passages known only to him, until he got to Infospace’s representation of Shaw's Tower. In his peripheral vision he could see Erik approaching the same object in the real world, and it made the whole experience a bit uncanny, as if he were in a lucid dream.

The ground beneath his feet shook and he wondered if that was Jean's code-mending or something quite the opposite.

 _Mending_. He felt Jean's warm touch on his mind and smiled. She really _was_ pretty amazing.

Shaw's Tower within Infospace was even more immense than in reality—all sleek and shiny, making Charles think of Sauron's Eye or a huge black dildo. He sniggered at the thought.

Darwin appeared right next to Charles. "Looking good, man," he said.

Apparently Charles’s avatar in Infospace must have adjusted to represent his current mood. "Thanks," he said, dodging some visitors walking by.

 _Jean_ , he thought. _Could you steer users away from this point? Reroute them or block access?_

He got a touch of confirmation from Jean, and soon he and Darwin were standing at the entrance to the Tower. Out in the real world, Erik was climbing up a technical staircase, and the vision of high metal ladders made Charles somewhat dizzy.

“What’s the plan, then?” Darwin asked.

“Well, the plan _was_ to trap Emma within a folded space here, but without access to the Backroom codes that’s impossible. Jean, the Brotherhood’s AI, is working on repairing the Backroom right now. It’ll take her some time, though, and we have one hour tops before all hell breaks loose. So I guess… I’ll try to confront Emma head-on?”

Darwin looked at Charles with disbelief, but when he saw that Charles wasn’t joking he closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded. “All right. I’ll keep her distracted for you. Let’s summon her, then.”

They pushed on the Tower’s access point, activating the alarm.

Charles didn’t know what he’d expected—perhaps Emma descending in her glory from above like a white angel, or materializing out of thin air—but certainly he wasn’t prepared for the door of the tower to open and Emma to step out, elegant and very human-like. That is if humans could have shiny, translucent skin that reflected light.

“Fuck me,” Darwin said from behind Charles.

“I’d rather not,” Emma answered, smiling in a way that made Charles shiver. “I know what you want, and I will not grant you the access to the Tower. My master is busy.”

Just in case Emma shared Jean’s ability to read Charles’s thoughts in Infospace, he tried not to think of where Erik was right now, hoping his connection with Erik was designed in a complicated enough manner not to be seen by anyone without access codes. He could see that Erik was slowly walking through corridors with red plush carpets, gold tapestries, and crystal candelabras—it appeared that the corporeal Shaw’s Tower was a true, old-fashioned palace. At the end of the corridor there was a dimly lit room with a shadow of a… throne? Charles wasn’t quite sure what Erik was looking at, but he knew that whatever it was, Charles needed to get into the Tower in Infospace to see how it looked from the other side. A strange sense of dread crept up Charles’s skin. He suspected he didn’t have much time.

He turned his whole attention to Emma. Maybe he couldn’t trap her inside the Backroom’s walls, but he surely could try to weave a net of restriction around her. He pulled on Infospace’s structures, drawing energy from the surrounding avatars of trees, lamp-posts, buildings and surfaces. After all, everything was just data. Shiny threads emerged from the objects around them and crawled to Charles’s hands. When he thought he had enough of the data threads gathered around him, he took a step forward and released the net.

He wasn’t naïve enough to believe this trick would just work without a problem; after all, Emma was the most powerful AI out there, and she must have predicted every possible threat against her. What she couldn’t predict though was Jean helping Charles—and Jean, even busy with code-mending as she was, sent a wave of power towards Charles so strong that he almost staggered. The data net expanded, then reached Emma, trapping her by her arms and legs. Now what Charles had to do was hold on long enough for Darwin to take care of the rest.

Emma was shining bright like a diamond and felt hard as one, but where Charles held her he could already see fractures marring the surface. He knew he couldn’t keep her immobile for much longer, though. He glanced at Darwin and watched in awe as Darwin’s avatar grew and grew until the head became really immense. Darwin’s mouth opened, exposing the rows of teeth, and Charles felt Emma struggling harder in the light-woven net he’d set around her.

He tightened his mental grip on the ropes of data, even though the strain made him almost cry out in pain. He wondered for a moment if Hank could see it on the monitors back in the Hive and if he could dig Charles out in case the chain of events endangered Charles’s brain waves. The ground beneath their feet kept rumbling and shaking, little cracks appearing here and there, but Charles felt confident that Jean wouldn’t let the whole space collapse around them, so he pulled on the ropes once more, forcing Emma to kneel.

Darwin’s maw opened wide, wide, wide and a moment later he was swallowing Emma, eating her whole and devouring her as the jaws closed around her kneeling figure. For a moment nothing happened, but then stripes of white light—either from Charles’s ropes or from Emma herself—pierced through Darwin’s skin until they spread all around him and he simply vanished into thin air.

Charles could only hope that the destruction of Darwin’s avatar didn’t mean that anything happened to Darwin’s physical body. He stood alone in front of the shiny Tower with everything around him frozen in an uncanny stillness. He looked into the connection with Erik, but the vision was blurry, as if something was obscuring or distorting it.

“Erik?” he asked, but was met with silence. “Erik? What’s happening?”

Through the noise there came a fragmented reply, “… bastard… hooked in. Can you check if we can disconnect him?” Then the signal broke again.

There was no turning back now, Charles thought. He took a deep breath and walked through the intricate black door into Shaw’s fortress.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

It was always disorienting leaping into Infospace from reality—when spaces that appeared small on the outside turned out to be vast on the inside, or when the time it took to get from one place to another was shorter than in the corporeal world. So Charles had to shake off the uncanny feeling of displacement when he entered the Tower, because on the inside it was _immense_. It reminded him of a Gothic cathedral, with a lengthy main corridor, shiny black floor, and walls that vanished into thin air high above as if the roof were placed in heaven. What was even more confusing, though, was that from the outside it looked like a monolith, but inside Infospace it was fractured and fragmented, as if the walls had been built, then destroyed and rebuilt again, only to be abandoned halfway through. No AI would have done this, so Charles suspected it was Shaw’s own deliberate creation.

He took a step, expecting a dull echo to match his movements, but his ears met with silence. Maybe the design of this place didn’t include sound, or maybe it was just another trick to further confuse unwelcome visitors. Underneath his feet Charles could feel the code rippling and adjusting as he proceeded forward, towards a throne that was visible at the end of the main nave.

_I’m approaching someone—I think it’s Shaw,_ he sent to Jean, hoping she’d get the message even through the thick walls of the Tower.

_I’m heading your way,_ she thought back at Charles. _Backroom’s all done._

Indeed, Charles could feel a familiar order returning to Infospace that had seemed disrupted before, though the chaotic code of the Tower remained unchanged.

He reached out for the connection with Erik but it was still dead.

_Could you make a comm-patch through the Tower’s block?_ he asked Jean. He received a confirmation in reply and soon he got his visual of Erik back. He cursed because it looked like Erik was standing right in front of the real Shaw—who was hooked into Infospace through a very elaborate immersion set. With his pale, impassive face, he looked like a sculpture on a sarcophagus.

Charles walked down the hallway to take a closer look at the throne. Here Shaw looked quite different. His representation was ghostly, faded and multilayered like a palimpsest, and it felt…

“Erik?” Charles whispered, hoping to be heard through the comm. “Erik, I think Shaw’s imprinting himself into Infospace.”

“What—say?” Came the distorted reply from Erik. Perhaps the Tower walls were too well done to be overridden fully. Charles could vaguely see Erik circling Shaw and examining the immersion set, no doubt sending the data back to Hank as he did so.

“I think he’s trying to copy himself _into_ Infospace. You know? Like _The Ghost in the Machine_?”

“What? Is that even possible?” Erik asked, pausing in his steps.

That was a question Charles had asked himself many times over when he’d still entertained the notion of doing exactly the same thing. Theoretically it was possible, but no sane person would risk brain death for the sake of such an experiment. No one would risk it. Except Shaw. And it looked like he was almost there.

“Hello, Professor X,” Shaw said, startling Charles. His ghostly eyes were open now, and he had a thin smile on his face. “Welcome to my humble abode. I am delighted to finally meet you ‘in person.’ My dear Emma has told me so much about you. I hope you’ll enjoy my hospitality more than my boy Erik is enjoying himself right now.” Charles noticed that his connection with Erik had been cut yet again, but there was nothing he could do to help Erik except engage Shaw within Infospace and hope for the best.

Shaw sounded calm, if a bit off. His voice seemed to multiply as his image rippled in silvery waves. “As you can see, I have found the solution for our little human problem called _death_. Once the process is finished, I will abandon the useless shell of my physical body and become Infospace itself.”

_What did that mean for Infospace, though?_ Charles wondered. Would Shaw be absorbed by it, or would he become something like an AI but with absolute power in here?

_Yes_ , Jean answered in Charles’s thoughts. _We can’t allow this to happen or we’ll all be lost._

“No program is good enough to imprint a human mind into Infospace,” Charles said, which only made Shaw laugh coldly. His laugh seemed to ripple like his image, sending sharp shivers up Charles’s spine with every note.

“That’s why, my dear Professor, I invited you to my party tonight.” At Charles’s surprised expression, he added, “Now, you didn’t think you could just override Emma and all my other defenses so easily, did you? Oh, you _did_. That is so sweet, Charles, but also very naïve of you. I allowed your honeymoon trip with Erik because I needed you strong and on a decent immersion set. I have to admit, though, that if I had known Erik had built such a fine AI, I’d have invited _Ms. Jean_ instead, but he was cunning enough to keep her well hidden.

“Thankfully, I’ve managed to keep her busy with the Backroom disruption. Yes, I planned that too, Charles. It was harmless, by the way; you needn’t have worried about it.”

Charles’s eyes widened.

“See?” Shaw said gleefully. “I know you so well, my dear Charles, I feel like we are old friends.”

Charles thought about the black ice wall and all the other weird encounters he’d had in Infospace and wondered why he hadn’t seen through it all earlier. How could he have been so stupid?

“Ah, I see you’re beginning to understand. Now—” Shaw stood up from his throne and walked down the hall towards Charles. “—I wish we had more time to chat but I need you to focus and help me complete this process. I need you to recalibrate this part of the Infospace for me so I can slip through the code.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” Charles wanted to back away, but all of a sudden he was immobilized by the pattern of the floor.

_Jean?!_ he tried to send. 

_I can’t get through the walls of the Tower to get to you! They’re too chaotic! I need time,_ she replied.

It was a relief to at least be able to hear her, but panic surged through Charles as Shaw approached him and put his hands on Charles’s shoulders.

“Your representation here is charming, I have to admit,” Shaw said, leaning closer. “And the power I can feel from you! Oh, the things we could have done together. Alas, we have too little time now.”

Charles was practically screaming inwardly now, but he was totally incapacitated. And then Shaw closed the last distance between them and kissed Charles.

Charles tried to bite him in response, but by now even his face was frozen, and he was totally at Shaw’s mercy. The kiss wasn’t a deep one, just a peck on the lips, really, but when Shaw put his hands on Charles’s head, the rippling of Shaw’s form somehow extended itself _onto_ Charles and caught him in its eddy like a bit of seaweed on the tide.

As images and emotions sparked inside of Charles he finally understood what Shaw was intending to do. He was _merging_ with Charles to enhance his power. _Consuming_ him.

“No! No!” Charles cried out and struggled against the hold. He could read each and every one of Shaw’s thoughts now; he knew him inside out, his past and present, his motivations and plans. What Shaw was, what he wanted to become—it would be so much worse than the end of the world they’d feared.

The black ice of Shaw’s mind was slowly incapacitating Charles, and soon he’d be a part of Shaw and nothing would be left of him. He poured every ounce of strength into maintaining the integrity of his avatar. But he feared it wouldn’t be enough.

The connection between him and Shaw was almost fully established when Charles saw the wall of the Tower finally cracking, and through it came Jean. She reached for both Charles and Shaw. It distracted the shimmering Shaw, dividing his attention between Charles and Jean and slowing the merge.

After a moment, the connection with Erik came back, and Charles exhaled with relief. He couldn’t “feel” Erik the way he felt other things in Infospace, like the way he could connect with Jean, but he felt safer with Erik back online. It was as if Erik was giving Charles the strength he needed to fight any battles that were coming.

Erik leaned and grabbed the Infospace cord at the base of Shaw’s real skull.

“Erik, no, please don’t!” Charles shouted through the comm.

“It should kill him if he’s as deep as you say,” Erik said.

“Yes, but _I am_ _hooked_ _to him_. It might kill me, too!” Charles’s thoughts were slowly getting fuzzy, and it was getting harder and harder to distinguish himself from Shaw. He wasn’t even sure if he was talking right now or if Shaw was controlling him and saying something else on his behalf.

“How much time do we have?” Erik asked.

Charles didn’t answer; his struggle against Shaw’s mind had come to the breaking point, and he was only holding on by a thread with Jean’s and Erik’s help.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Erik said softly. “I cannot risk the world, even for you.”

Charles didn’t have a chance to answer or shout before Erik pulled the cord.

The blast of energy that hit Charles was like nothing he’d ever felt, almost as if something had ripped him in half. He lost his sense of orientation and fell, with lights bright in his eyes. The surface that he hit was ice-hard, and the fall only added to the pain that shot through him.

At the same time, Charles was released from Shaw’s grip and ceased being the main link between Shaw and Infospace. There was no way to contain the data that flooded out of Shaw and spread quickly like a virus—it burned or froze every single bit of code around them. Charles reached to save at least one thread of code but he was aching too much and his Infospace body still wouldn’t obey him. His legs were numb, and as he started to crawl on the ice floor he knew that he wasn’t going to make it. The presence of Shaw, or what used to be Shaw, was expanding, and soon enough it’d consume all of Infospace and become the main core itself, the nexus for all data—twisted and incomplete and deeply vile.

Charles panted, trying to ignore the pain, and felt around for any piece of data not yet transformed by Shaw. Distinctly he could sense Jean, and as he focused on her presence he could see that even she was already tainted with Shaw’s imagery; her eyes were turning black, her posture was changing into that of a much older woman, something harder and darker. She was quickly diverting all the flow of data into herself, growing and strengthening as she did so. Soon enough Shaw would overcome her totally and all would be lost then.

_Jean, please,_ Charles thought at her, pushing towards her his impression of Jean when he’d first seen her. He focused on the fragments of Erik he’d recognized in her. He wasn’t sure if it was working, but he kept trying, sharing his memories of Erik’s smile and Erik’s gentle eyes, of Erik’s expression when he talked about his lost daughter and the pride in his voice when he described Jean.

_Come on._ He pushed himself up off the floor, but only managed to sit perched up against a wall. The lower part of his body was still totally unresponsive and he could sense the numbness spreading towards his hands and chest. He was losing himself. He had to get out of Infospace.

“Jean,” he said aloud and reached for her to hold her tight in hope of preserving at least a sliver of what she’d been. He kept pushing all his memories towards her again, and again.

The ground beneath them cracked and the Tower walls crumbled.

Charles closed his eyes and braced for impact.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again he felt a gentle hand combing through his hair. He blinked, surprised he wasn’t in the Tower anymore but on a beach, with golden sand and azure water splashing in soft waves. Charles was warm and comfortable, with his head cradled on Jean’s lap.

She looked young and sweet again, if somewhat less human than before.

“Shaw?” Charles asked.

_Absorbed._ Jean’s voice in Charles’s head was loud and clear. She bent down to place a kiss on his forehead and then stood up, slipping from under Charles to leave him lying on the sand alone. He wondered if she was something more than AI now, if absorbing Shaw had changed her structure in ways he couldn’t perceive.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

Jean smiled. _I’ll be around._

She walked towards the ocean and then into it, dissolving in the water.

 

***

“Again!” Charles heard, and a jolt of pain shot through his chest. He was being brutally shaken by not so gentle hands.

_Stop this_ , he thought, pushing on the fog enshrouding his vision.

Someone kept prodding at him, though.

“Stop it,” Charles said, surprised when there was sound to his words.

“Oh, thank God.” Hank said, and the relief in his voice was obvious. Charles wondered idly what had made Hank so upset, but he was too tired to keep thinking. He wanted the warmth of the ocean to sweep him away.

“Charles, come on!” Hank shouted, and reluctantly Charles opened his eyes to the lights of the lab. The monitors around the immersion set were beeping steadily, and when he moved there was a louder sound.

“You promised not to do that,” Hank said, smiling nervously and pushing the Infoglasses up his nose.

“What?” Charles asked and coughed. His throat was dry and felt as if it had been scraped with sandpaper.

“Flatline on me. I’ve got you back now. All your vitals look steady and strong, but it was touch and go for a moment there.”

Oh. _Oh…_

“Erik?” he managed to croak.

“Erik’s fine. Raven too. They’re on their way back and should be here soon. Shaw’s incapacitated. What did you do? What happened, exactly? I can’t locate Jean anywhere in Infospace.”

Charles thought about Jean’s goodbye and smiled. “She’s around.”

He tried to get a sense of his body and started cataloguing what hurt like hell and what only dully ached. His head was throbbing—a steady horrid pain he hadn’t felt in a long time. His throat felt raw and his eyes were dry, but that was the usual effect of exhaustion and dehydration from too long an immersion stay. What was worrying, though, was the backache; it started somewhere in the middle of Charles’s spine and radiated down until it got lost somewhere in his pelvic area. And with that came the memory of the blast of energy that hit him hard.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he said.

He struggled to stand up, but Velcro straps around his arms kept him bound to the chair.

“I was hurt there, in the Tower, and I can’t feel my legs. McCoy!”

Hank still looked nervous but not overly so. “Wait.” He checked the monitors. “I can’t see anything out of order in your brain activity. I’d have to give you a full scan to be sure, but I suspect it’s just a temporary effect of the damage you sustained in Infospace? Your brain needs to adjust to the lack of physical injury. Give yourself a few minutes for total muscle control to return.”

_Thank fuck_ , Charles wanted to say, but all the talking and struggling had worn him out more than he’d expected. He closed his eyes again and focused on ignoring the headache.

“Can you give me something for the headache?”

“I’ll bring you more of the S-patches. You should rest and drink fluids now,” Hank said, as if Charles was waiting for his approval. “I’ll keep monitoring you for the next few minutes, and as soon as you feel better you can go lie down in Erik’s quarters. Erik should be here soon, okay?”

The rest of Hank’s monologue was lost on Charles as he remembered exactly why he was hurt in the first place, and how easily Erik had made the decision to sacrifice Charles.

“No,” he said. “I want to go home.” He needed to get out of here—out of Erik’s space, and out of Erik’s plans. “I’m fine.” He sat up, vaguely surprised that his body obeyed him this time around, and unwrapped all the cords and Velcro straps attached to him. “I’ve done this before, and I know I need fluids and sleep, but not here. Can someone give me a ride back or call a taxi for me?”

“But, I’ll need to run a scan…” McCoy started.

Charles wouldn’t let him finish. He was fine. He was _great_. He just needed to go home and _not_ see Erik. “I promise I’ll call you if I feel any worse, all right? I just want to be in my own bed and not in the middle of…” He waved his hand to indicate the surroundings although he meant so much more. “Just, please, call me a cab and I’ll come back tomorrow for all the scans you want once I sleep it off. It’ll all come out distorted now, anyway.”

As they descended in Erik’s elevator Charles had to fight waves of nausea, but he was determined to stay upright and not give in to the weakness. He couldn’t give McCoy any more reasons to keep him here. With one more promise to contact them all later tonight, to at least hear about the rest of the mission, Charles got into a hover-cab and tugged angrily on the safety belts.

The cab was one of the less luxurious ones; it smelled like greasy food and sweaty clothes, but Charles didn’t care. He endured the drive with his eyes set on the distant glowing point of Shaw’s real Tower, visible outside the windows. He wondered what was going on there right now. Could Erik just walk out of there? What would happen to the Tower itself? Would Erik take Shaw’s place there? But it wasn’t Charles’s problem anymore. Erik had got what he’d wanted.

Apparently Erik didn’t care for Charles as much as Charles had thought. He knew that they had no obligations towards each other, but he’d hoped… and the reality of his situation hurt. If he was honest it really hurt. But with each passing minute he found that he cared less and less because as time ground on, Charles found himself in increasing physical pain. It wasn’t just his head that throbbed but his whole body, and the only thing he actually wanted right now was to finally get to his place and find some painkillers—something stronger than these lousy S-patches.

He paid with credits and crawled out of the cab and then slowly went through the lobby, wishing there were handrails so he could have some support. He even didn’t mind the glass elevators anymore. When he reached his floor and got through the main door he almost wept with relief. His hands were oddly shaky and so was his breath, and he could only be grateful that no one could see him in such a state of vulnerability.

The S-patches he got from Hank weren’t working at all. He needed something stronger for this headache. But for now he’d rest for a few minutes. The carpet on his hall floor was warm and soft, and as Charles curled up and laid his cheek on it he could think of no reason to move any farther. He could stay here forever and no one would tell him what he could or couldn’t do. Certainly not Erik.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

11.

 

Charles barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up all the blue liquid Hank had made him drink before he’d left the Hive. He leaned on the toilet, pressing his throbbing temple to the cold surface in hope of some relief, but there was none. He still couldn’t muster the energy to get up and search for some decent painkillers, so he stayed put for some indeterminate time on the floor, breathing through his mouth so he wouldn’t smell anything. He ignored the insistent pings of his watch, reminding him of all the urgent unread messages he’d received. He was shivering from cold, but at the same time he felt as if his head was on fire. He briefly wondered how he’d ever lived with the constant headache before Erik had fixed the socket for him. Then he considered if this pain being back meant something was damaged yet again, but all his speculations wouldn’t lead to any answers. He should have let Hank perform the full scan on him, but he wasn’t going back there, not now, when Erik was most probably already back from the Tower.

 _There must be something for pain in the bathroom_ , he thought. He made an effort to push himself up from the floor, but the lower part of his body was unresponsive again.

“Fuck you, brain,” he said aloud, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He didn’t fight them—who was here to see him after all? He half-rolled and half-crawled to the shelf under the sink and rummaged through it, thankful for his tendency to squirrel away drugs all over the house. He extracted a very old looking patch out of a toothpaste box. He couldn’t make out the brand, but since there was a “3000mg” stamp on it he could expect that the dose was high, probably higher than he’d normally take. For a moment he hesitated to take something he wasn’t sure of, but a new wave of pain-induced nausea quenched his doubts. He ripped off the covering paper and stuck the patch on the inner side of his wrist. Now he only had to wait few more moments before…

The kick of the drug was hard. So hard that Charles threw up again. But soon after that came the bliss of the absence of pain, leaving Charles almost floating, with his body light, practically weightless. His vision was finally free of the sparks of light and dark spots. He could move his legs too, and he got up slowly, still dizzy but delighted at being pain-free. In the mirror he could see his eyes gleaming and pupils dilated, and his heart was racing hard, which meant that the drug was also an upper of some kind. Quite possibly Charles was speedballing here, but he felt too good to worry now.

In fact, he felt so good, he wasn’t going to stay in his flat. He had to go out—maybe dancing? Yes, clubbing felt like a good idea. He might not have done it for ages, but surely it was like riding a bicycle and he would just have to try it and everything would come back to him? After all, saving the whole world from destruction definitely called for some kind of decent celebration. 

He quickly got out of Erik’s soiled clothes and dumped them on the floor in a ball, and he took off his Infospace watch without even glancing at the messages, before going inside the shower. Christ, was it good to feel the warm water fall on his face. The main showerhead imitated rain, and the wall sprinklers massaged his back and legs with forceful pulses. He walked out of the shower feeling somewhat human again. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, then picked something luxurious to wear. Something suitable for going out so that he looked good enough for the hip clubs to let him in.

* * *

Outside it was drizzling again, which made the night cityscape look like an aquarelle painting—all blurred lines and smudged lights. Charles put on the hood of his rain-jacket and headed towards the nearest hover-taxi stop. He tapped in his request for a club and picked the first one from an alphabetical list. “The Apocalypse” sounded about right—after all, he and the Brotherhood had prevented just that.

Luck was with him tonight. Judging by the line outside the club it was one of the top ones, even though it was located in the industrial part of the city. The line was moving fast enough, and Charles took his place at the end of it, waiting patiently to be let in.

“ICE? Green powder? Chocolate? Chocolate?” asked a guy standing next to Charles, facing the other way.

“No, thank you. All set here,” Charles replied. He wasn't desperate enough to buy drugs on the streets, especially not with the patch still coursing through him.

The bouncer checked Charles's ID and flashed a scanner at his eyes.

“You're high. You need to drop a deposit,” he said.

Charles didn't want to get into explanations about painkillers; besides, he guessed that the bouncer had heard it all before. He didn't really mind paying the deposit, even if it meant leaving personal details in the club’s databanks. He could always find a way to erase it later. He gave his credit number, and once he was waved inside he entered the club through a long glass tunnel.

“The Apocalypse” was very loud, very bright, and also very packed with colorful people dancing on several levels of platforms. It felt a bit surreal that all those clubbers were oblivious to the threat they had just escaped.

Charles ordered a drink of the night, downed it in one go, and grimaced at both the unexpected strength of it and the fruity aftertaste it left. To get rid of the taste he got a double scotch with ice and drank that too. The warmth of the amber liquid spread down his throat and across his chest, and he immediately felt even better. He moved on to one of the dancing platforms occupied mostly by hip boys. It felt good to move his legs and body to the rhythm of the beat, to be aware of all his muscles but not in pain anymore. It felt even better to not be thinking about the Brotherhood, Shaw, and most of all—Erik.

After a while Charles caught a sight of a young boy who was dancing nearby, twirling and twisting his hips in an enticing way. He could be in his early twenties, but one could never be sure about age these days. The boy was _pretty_ : lanky and quite supple, if a bit too exaggerated with his strong makeup, long violet hair, and ultralong silver eyelashes. But he was interested, and so much unlike Erik that it made Charles smile encouragingly as they danced closer and closer to each other.

For a while they moved smoothly together, hips brushing now and then. Charles could smell the boy’s sweet, flowery perfume when he leaned closer, grinning. He had incredibly white teeth, almost fluorescent in the club’s lights.

“I’m Wyn. And you are?” he shouted over the beat of the music.

“Professor X.” Charles felt stupid to have given a nickname, but it just came out like that and apparently the boy loved the answer because he laughed, throwing his head back.

“You’re such a hot professor. Do you want me to be your pupil?” He batted his eyelashes, and when Charles drew the boy closer as an answer to that, Wyn brushed his finger down Charles’s cheek and licked his lips. “Do you want to crack ICE with me?” he purred into Charles’s ear.

 _So fitting_ , Charles thought, smiling at the multiple meanings of it that would be lost on the boy. He nodded.

Wyn took a tiny blue crystal cube out of his jeans’ pocket and put it between his teeth. Then he leaned into Charles. They kissed, moving to the beat of music, and then kissed some more. Charles almost lost awareness of the club and his own body in the delicious rush of attraction, before he heard the crack of the crystal as Wyn bit down on the ICE. It exploded in their mouths, filling Charles with a wave of desire that almost made him come on the spot. Their kiss became wilder and deeper as they gyrated together. Through the buzzing in his ears he barely heard the music anymore. His heart skipped a beat, and then another. His skin started to itch and the lights became too bright, hurting his eyes. And then Charles was falling.

He looked up at the boy, but his partner was still moving to the rhythm, his eyes dark and cheeks flushed, oblivious of Charles. Charles was caught in another wave of arousal before he managed to scramble off his knees and head towards the bathrooms. He needed a quiet place to relax and some cool water to splash on his burning skin.

The floor beneath his feet was wobbly, and the walls that he grabbed to steady himself on the way felt spongy, giving slightly underneath his fingers. For a moment Charles wondered if he was maybe still inside of Infospace, trapped somewhere where the laws of physics didn’t apply.

By the time he made it to the bathroom he was hot and sweaty and convinced that the blood in his body was _boiling_. He had to get out of his clothes. He tore at his shirt but ripping a few buttons didn’t bring him any relief. The idea of scratching his skin off was oddly appealing. He had to cool off. He had to take deeper breaths or he’d suffocate here in the shiny steel of this hip club bathroom. He grabbed the rim of a sink to stay upright and tried to splash some cold water on his face, but it felt scalding hot as it seeped through his fingers.

The lights dimmed and the floor dipped, bending until Charles was lying flat with his face pressed to a wall.

He blinked.

He blinked again.

Through the fog of lights an angel approached—one with a beautiful face and glistening dark wings. The vision made Charles smile. He didn’t expect any part of the Old Religion to actually be true, but here she was—The Angel of Death coming for him.

He must have said some of this out loud, because the angel leaned over him, examined his face, and then said to someone behind her back, “I know him. He’s the one Magneto took on the mission.” She prodded Charles. “Fuck, baby, you’re hiiiigh. What did you take?”

Should angels curse? The rest of what she was saying was lost on Charles. The throbbing in his head had returned, and he might have started crying, or maybe it was snot or drool that made his face wet underneath his fingers as he covered it with his hands. There was a commotion around him, arms gripping him, someone shouting, demanding something of Charles. But then it all disappeared into a painless and peaceful void.

* * *

He was warm and comfortable when he woke up and blinked his eyes open. The room he was in was elegant and austere in the way hotel rooms or expensive clinic rooms were usually decorated. Charles slowly took in his surroundings—the simple beige curtains, a rectangular table with a round bowl of white synthetic lilies on it, an abstract painting on the wall and a discreet monitor next to his bed, no bigger than a tablet screen but displaying all the necessary vitals.

_Ah. A clinic, then._

Charles felt weirdly numb, as if he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t in pain, but he wasn’t feeling anything, really. The lower part of the body was nonresponsive once again, and he didn’t feel oriented in space or time. This room could be anywhere. He really could still be in Infospace, trapped somewhere in a loop. Maybe he’d never escaped Shaw. Maybe he was caught in some sick, twisted dream. The events of the previous night were slowly coming back to Charles: the headache, the club, the ICE, his angel. Would he really have done these things of his own volition?

“You’re awake,” a familiar, deep voice said.

Charles turned his head to see Erik sitting on a chair near the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. A dream, then. He distinctly remembered Erik pulling at Shaw’s plug, but everything after that was hazy. Erik’s willingness to give Charles up was the last real thing he was sure of.

He tried to smile at Erik, but his face was stiff, as if all his muscles were lagging, responding with a bit of delay. And Erik looked… It was hard to decipher his expression because several emotions were warring over his features. What won, though, was rage.

“Are you insane, Charles? Or just stupid?” Erik asked, and he said it so calmly, but also so coldly that it made Charles flinch. “Do you really want to die so badly?”

He was being scolded like a petulant child here, but Erik was no parent. Livid and frowning Erik was hot and quite irresistible, with his grey-blue eyes blazing and his taut muscles rippling with fury.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said. It came out raspy. It was really getting old, how many times Erik had seen Charles so vulnerable and disgusting. “It’s just—” Charles swallowed painfully. “I had a headache, and you…”

Erik stood up, walked over to the bed, and loomed over Charles, still livid.

“Don’t you realize what’s going on out there? Do you think that eliminating Shaw is enough to set the world straight? We need to get to work. We need to make changes to the government, now that it’s not under Shaw’s influence anymore. Of all the people out there, Charles, I thought that you’d understand. You used to work for them! You used to write bloody political treatises. And yes, Charles, I made the effort to read every single one of them.”

Erik took a step back from the bed and started pacing the room.

“We’ll be negotiating with Shaw Corp’s people and we have a good leverage in Emma, who’s hopefully well enough to be up and running in Infospace once your friend—Darwin, is it?—releases her from his grasp. She’s our main asset now, since we have no idea what happened to Jean.”

Charles wondered how losing Jean must feel to Erik, but now wasn’t the time to try to explain to Erik what Jean had become.

“But you, Charles? What do you do?” Erik stopped his pacing to glare at Charles once again. “You disappear. I come back from the Tower only to hear that Jean’s gone, and you’re possibly badly hurt but you refused any treatment and just ran off! How do you think it made me feel? And I drove with Raven to your place only to find you’d been and gone! We searched for you for hours only to find out you went fucking _clubbing_ , got high, and nearly died of an overdose! And If it weren’t for Angel, Charles, you’d _be_ dead now. It was pure luck that she was there.”

“An angel.” Charles possibly looked even more perplexed, and Erik shook his head with aggravation.

“Angel Salvadore is our messenger. She has those”—he made a broad gesture with his hand—“wings.”

That explained the Angel of Death, then. There was a brief silence during which Charles was trying to decide what to say. He could hear the soft beeping of the life-monitoring equipment, and Erik’s ragged breathing.

“You _sacrificed_ me,” Charles finally said, bitter.

Erik sighed and turned back towards Charles. He looked so crestfallen that Charles thought that maybe he was missing something here. Erik’s jaw clenched a few times, the muscles on his cheek jumping, and then his expression hardened again.

“I won’t apologize, if that’s what you’re waiting for. There are bigger things than us, Charles. But I hoped… I believed you were strong enough to overcome Shaw.”

“I told you not to pull the plug.” It seemed like whining now, but Charles still felt so betrayed that he couldn’t just let it go.

When Erik spoke again, all the anger was gone from his voice. He sounded tired. “We have so much work ahead of us. We need to work on the plan to repopulate Europe. I thought you’d be there with me. I wanted you by my side. Watching you disappear from the comm was…” He swallowed and averted his gaze from Charles. “I fucking love you, Charles.”

 _Oh God. Oh God,_ Charles thought, weak and hot from a crazy rush of emotions. He was such an idiot.

“But I can’t do this right now,” Erik continued. “I thought we could do everything together, but not like this.” He motioned to Charles, prostrate on the bed. “You are a liability to me, and I can’t allow myself a weakness because there are more important things going on than _my personal life_.

“I’m going to leave now. Set yourself straight, Charles. And when you do… If you ever feel like you want to try _this_ again”—he motioned to the space between them—“I will be waiting.”

Charles wasn’t sure, but he thought that Erik blinked away tears when he turned to leave.

The door closed behind him without a sound, and once again Charles was left alone, with only the sounds of the medical equipment to keep him company. There was no telling the position of his body. There wasn’t even any way to verify the existence of the very place he was located in. Perhaps he was dead and this was his own personal hell. Perhaps he was locked inside his head, drifting somewhere in Infospace. Perhaps this was all just another drug-induced dream. _Had Erik just told him he loved him?_

His vitals looked solid on the display screen, but machines could be deceiving.

The beige curtains stirred subtly in an unseen breeze.

Erik’s words echoed in his head. _I fucking love you, Charles._ Why hadn’t he said it back? Did he even feel it?

Charles reckoned he had all the time in the world to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.

* * * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the main story, but fear not - there will be a proper epilogue! :)  
> So one more chapter (or two if it gets out of hand ;)


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took me ages to finish this story. I wanted to thank everyone who read and commented on this <3

 

_One, two. Breathe in. Three, four. Breathe out._

Charles focused on each step and tried to even up his breathing to match the rhythm he’d set. It was his fourth lap already and he was getting quite winded, but he didn’t want to quit his run just yet. It was nice out here, at the outskirts of the Orbit Station, with a real green garden growing underneath the running track and bright sunlight seeping through the rooftop’s slightly tinted enormous spherical windows.

Slowing his pace to light jog, Charles tapped on his watch to change the music. Even after almost six months in the Center on the Orbit, he was grateful that his psychosomatic paralysis hadn’t immobilized him for good. It was unheard of for an Infospace injury to affect one’s physical condition so severely. If it had been a typical spinal cord injury, the docs would have just fixed it with nano-bots. Like that though? It was all down to good old-fashioned physical and psychological therapy, which took _bloody ages_ , and went to hell somewhat each time Charles had a “slip,” as he called it. Still, he was making some progress, and currently he was racing his track record back to the Center.

When a flash of light cut through his vision Charles cursed and halted, bending down and putting his hands on his knees. He tried breathing through his nose but a second burst of light made him gasp. Bloody hell, another setback just as he was doing so well.

He lay down on the ground and tried to focus on orienting his body in space. _Here were his fingertips, his eyebrows, cheeks, lips; here was his neck, chest, belly button._ He tried to relax his arms and then get a sense of his hips and legs, which was always the tricky part. _One toe, two toes, big toe. Here were his calves, ankles and shins._

Eventually the flashes stopped and he was able to move again. He stood up and reached to the sky, going through six sun salutation cycles in order to center himself more before jogging back to the Center.

He walked past the reception desk, smiling at a nurse who was on her shift today, and went back to his room to shower and dress. He had a therapy session scheduled for later, but for now he was free to do whatever he pleased—a luxury he’d earned the hard way and didn’t want to take for granted, either. He took his Infoglasses and opened a comm channel with Raven.

She appeared in her favorite colors—with bright-red hair and deep-blue, scaled skin. This image still made Charles recoil a bit, but he’d learned to hide it well.

“The ugly piece of shit you call Prime Minister of New Europe will talk to you on Tuesday at two in the afternoon, but I’ve been informed that she’d like for you to personally attend the summit in London next month. The other two environmental and genetics experts will be there as well. Emma will be the main AI leading the talks,” Raven said without greetings, sounding impatient.

Charles knew she was fed up with playing his secretary.

He sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go.” On the one hand he’d love to attend the summit personally, but he wasn’t sure he was quite ready yet.

“Charles, don’t make me go and haul your sorry arse here. You know you’re the best expert, and holo-transmition isn’t the same! The most important business will get done outside the main conference room during informal talks, and you know it! It’s something you’ve worked so hard for. Besides, you can’t hide on the Orb forever, you know?” she added, more gently than Charles would have expected.

“I’ll think about it.” He didn’t want to have this argument again, and the best tactic was always diversion. “Do you know if Hank had time to look at the data for the radiation levels and genetic mutations that came from Magda last week?”

“Oh, yes.” Raven smiled, the flash of her super-white teeth striking in contrast with her blue skin. “It’s all here. Have a look. Hank says it’s exactly the way you predicted.” She sent a package of data and Charles waved Raven goodbye so he could bury himself in analysis once again.

He didn’t ask about Erik. He never did.

It was enough that he had to watch holo-news with enraged commentators shouting about the unacceptability of a terrorist leader being let into the talks about the future of the world system, and then listen to Erik’s perfectly prepared, if quite heated, answers to each of the accusations. Charles could only hope that he wouldn’t be seated next to Erik during the upcoming conference.

Because that—that could be quite awkward.

* * *

Stepping out of the Orb shuttle felt like entering another dimension. It was both familiar and very foreign to be back in the city, with its drizzling rain, crowds of people, hover cars, and holo-ads flying around. After months spent in the highly organized Orbit environment, the city streets felt to Charles like the inside of a surreal concert hall filled to the brim with chaos.

Charles’s apartment was dark and blissfully empty when he entered. He turned the lights on, put his bag in the hall, and went to the kitchen to set water for tea. After pushing through the streets, the silence of the soundproofed flat was buzzing in his ears, and the lack of movement was making him dizzy. He put his walking crutch aside, sat down and placed his hands on the table to wait for the water to boil.

God, it was weird to be home.

The sense of displacement was so strong that it almost made Charles cry. He could only hope that he’d feel better in the morning, when he would be packing for the summit trip, occupied with reports and preparing his speech. For now, he had to rest.

He went through the motions, settling for the night in his own bed, oddly huge and luxurious compared to the Orbit’s medical one. He felt the now familiar pressure against his temples, and fought off the slice of Infospace that wanted to seep into his consciousness yet again.

 _I should’ve stayed longer in the Center,_ he thought. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to be left alone, or to go to any conference, or to meet anyone. Certainly not ready to meet Erik. But Raven was also right—eventually he had to come back, and probably no amount of time could actually prepare him to face his life again.

He was almost drifting into sleep when he heard the click of his door and then soft steps approaching. Raven slipped under the covers and hugged Charles fiercely.

“I missed you, douchebag,” she said, kissing his cheek.

Charles smiled and wrapped his arms around Raven. “I missed you too, kitten.”

Coming back wasn’t all bad after all.

 

* * *

The morning greeted Charles with steely grey clouds and more rain than the previous day. Raven was still sleeping and snoring loudly, sprawled on Charles’s pillow that she had stolen during the night.

Charles smiled and padded to the kitchen, cursing when he saw yet another bloody flash of light and his fucking legs gave out for a moment. He had to use the table as leverage so he wouldn’t fall over, knocking a flower vase over in the process.

“You all right there, Charles?” Raven called, her voice still sleepy.

“Yes. Yeah. Don’t worry.” Charles tried to suppress the anger at his body—he knew well _that_ didn’t lead him anywhere. “Just making brekkie. You want toast?”

“Sure,” Raven said, sounding muffled. She must have buried her head under the covers.

Charles picked up his crutch that he’d left in the kitchen and slowly lowered himself into a chair. He took a few deep breaths. He knew this injury wasn’t _real_ , he just had to convince his body of that fact. A while later, when he felt like getting up again, he made his way to his suitcase and extracted the prescription patches. It looked like he’d never be completely free of drugs of some kind, which was sad when he thought too much about it, but nonetheless necessary for him to function. Better this than how he’d been before. He slapped a patch on his arm and waited for the effect to settle before he went back to the kitchen to heat up the water for tea.

Despite the good night in his own bed he was tired—another thing he couldn’t get rid of, no matter how much he slept. But he knew that the best way to overcome this was to move forward. So he rattled around the kitchen, gathering ingredients that had been delivered to his flat prior to his arrival. He soon had eggs, toast and tomatoes ready and was putting it all on plates when Raven joined him, yawning widely. She sat down at the table and helped herself to the food.

“This is good,” she mumbled over a bite of egg on toast. “For reals, Charles, I didn’t know you could cook like this. Did they teach you this at the Orb?”

“Actually, Erik taught me.” Charles sipped on his tea and braced himself for more questions to come, but mercifully Raven didn’t pry. She knew Charles well enough to tell when his voice wasn’t exactly casual.

“So, can we get a private hover to get to the Tube trains, or do we have to use public transport like the lesser animals?”

Charles shrugged and smiled. “Call a hover-cab for us.” He wasn’t keen on pushing through the crowds again either.

“Awesome.” Raven grinned and stood up to go take a shower.

While Charles waited for the bathroom to be free, he wandered around the apartment, looking for… he didn’t quite know what. His immersion set lay cast aside in his den, and Charles sat down on his chair, feeling how familiar and yet uncanny it was to be in it again. The thing was, he didn’t need an immersion set to connect to Infospace anymore. Whatever had happened when they’d destroyed the Tower left Charles with the ability to connect without any device. It was as if his brain waves were attuned to that special activity and pulled Charles inside anytime he let his guard down.

He sighed. It was best not to risk even thinking about it right now. Most probably allowing himself to drift within Infospace would leave him totally unfit to go to the conference. The first time he’d tried that weird, self-induced immersion without fighting it, he’d ended up with a deep regression of his paralysis, unable to move for weeks. Since then he’d managed to acquire some techniques to control it, but still, doing it outside the tightly monitored Orb’s lab was too risky. And besides, as incredible as the feeling of immersing into Infospace without any limitations was, despite all the power it gave him—the ability to see the inner structures, understand all the codes, communicate without words with other Infospace beings like Jean—it all still scared the shit out of Charles too.

“Charles?”

Charles must have lost track of time for a while, because Raven was not only showered but also dressed and ready to go.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just...” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, really. “Will you call the hover-cab while I get ready?” he asked as he hurried to the bathroom himself.

When later he sat inside a private cabin of the Tube train with Raven idly scrolling through the news on her tablet, he felt the nervousness clamp down and tighten his throat. What if he had a “slip” in the middle of his speech?

He wanted a drink or a good patch so badly to calm his nerves. Instead he ordered tea and opened a report he was interested in. While he sipped and read, he prayed to all deities that he would make it through the conference without complications.

 

* * *

“This way, professor.” A uniformed guy with orange cat ears peeking through his hair showed Charles onto the platform for the speakers. The conference center had been built for hosting fighting matches, so it was constructed like an amphitheater, with a circle-shaped stage in the middle and seats placed all around it in rows going up towards the high ceiling. Above the stage the conference systems transmitted two-way holo-projections, but most attendees were present in person, seated on glassy benches that changed color at random.

The summit was, in many ways, an entertainment event just as much as it was a political one. Right before Charles’s speech there had been a pop culture performer—Charles wasn’t sure if it had been a real person or a perfectly mastered holo-projection. They had just finished their mini-recital full of loud noises and light-effects. Charles’s speech was going to be broadcasted, and he’d better have made it interesting enough for people to stick around in front of their screens. He put his crutch aside, gripped the lectern to be safe, and looked around the audience, exhaling with relief when he caught a glimpse of Raven’s red hair and blue face, for once grateful for her weird appearance.

“Dear attendees, my name is Charles Xavier and many of you might have met me in Infospace.” He smiled when there was a murmur of affirmative voices. “I’ve spent the last few months recovering from the events in Shaw’s Tower.” There was more murmuring then, as Charles’s involvement had been kept secret, and therefore was a topic of intense public speculation. Charles made a silencing gesture with his hand. “However, before those events, I had the privilege to spend some time in Old Europe. I stayed in an ancient pre-Crash house, explored the environment there, and even visited the Tunnel on foot.” The audience was finally silent and listening, and Charles exhaled with relief—he’d got their attention. Now he had to transform it into something valuable.

Twenty minutes later he was slowly descending the stage, a bit flushed but otherwise fine, smiling widely as the attendees roared with applause. He took a bottle of water someone pressed into his hand and was led out to the corridors behind the main hall where he could finally take a deeper breath. He leaned forward with his palm against a wall as he drank the cool liquid.

“That was a very good speech,” a familiar voice behind Charles said, making his heart jump. He turned around.

“Hello, Charles,” Erik said and smiled, a bit tight.

He looked good. Gorgeous even, if Charles was honest. His dark suit and light grey tie brought out the color of his eyes. His hair was elegantly styled and his face neatly shaved. That’s where the changes ended, though, because Erik was just as tense and serious as ever, with deep creases between his brows from frowning. He stood rigidly, as if bracing for an attack.

Charles wasn't sure how he should greet him. How did one greet an ex-lover who’d betrayed you, compromised you, and then abandoned you? Should he shake hands, give Erik a peck on the cheek? Embrace him? What he really wanted to do was punch Erik in the face. Hard.

Instead, he just nodded. “Hello, Erik. You look well. Good to see you.”

“And you,” Erik replied. He turned and motioned towards the smaller meeting rooms off the end of the hall. There were talks to be held here, after the main spectacle was done. “Shall we face our adversaries, then?”

It was best to proceed and take care of more important things than the unresolved tension between him and Erik. They had a lot of hard negotiations ahead, and then even more networking and socializing, and Erik’s presence wasn’t making anything easier. That the World Committee had even agreed to let the Brotherhood’s leader have a seat at the table was the result of many months of careful negotiations. After all, no spinning could erase Erik's involvement in so many terrorist acts, Shaw's death included. Luckily for Erik, the world needed the Brotherhood’s knowledge and experience in Old Europe, and it seemed as if that justified some of the evil. The rest? Well, people had to grit their teeth and somehow stomach this.

“So, where are you staying?” Erik asked after they had finally, _finally_ wrapped up for the day. Charles felt very much as if he’d been put in a tumble dryer and drained of all his moisture; his throat was raw from talking, his temples throbbed, and his legs threatened to give out. Being tired didn’t help his focus, and he was in danger of slipping into Infospace. He knew his control was threadbare now, and he needed to lie down and rest soon. Very soon.

“Well, I booked a room at the Ritz—“ Charles started to say.

“Of course you did.” Erik smiled and shook his head. “I keep forgetting how filthy rich you and Raven are.”

“I don't recall you having a problem with it before,” Charles said, a bit annoyed because Erik surely had never objected to using Raven’s money to finance some of the Brotherhood’s operations. “But what I wanted to say was that I’m staying here in the summit lodging, just like most of the conference delegates. Seemed like less fuss this way.”

“Oh,” Erik said, looking somewhat bashful.

They stood in silence for a moment, Charles torn between the urge to shove Erik out of the way so he could go to his capsule-room and collapse on the mattress there, and the terrible desire to stay in Erik’s presence just a little bit longer.

“We should celebrate,” Erik said, putting his hand on Charles’s shoulder casually, still full of energy despite how tired his eyes looked. 

Who was Charles kidding? Rest was out of the question while Erik was in hand’s reach.

“All right,” Charles said, leaning heavily on the crutch as he turned slowly towards the bar instead of the set of elevators leading to his capsule and the possibility of _sleep_.

The self-service bar area was packed, mostly with the summit attendees, excited that the conference and talks were over for today. There were more sessions scheduled for the morning, but they’d be held in smaller working groups and possibly wouldn’t be as taxing.

Charles couldn’t help but steal glances of Erik as he punched buttons to order a whole real bottle of Scotch. There wasn’t any place to sit down; all booths and benches hidden in the walls were occupied with people.

In the soft glow of evening-mode lamps Erik looked as if he were one of Charles’s hallucinations.

“I know it will sound presumptuous, but since there is no place to sit here, would you come up to my room so we can talk?”

Charles closed his eyes. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t get charmed by Erik again, no matter what. He was still so angry, hurt and disappointed. And yet he couldn’t deny himself _this_.

“All right,” he said, knowing well that he’d regret this in the morning.

They stepped into one of the elevators and Erik punched a button to one of the higher floors.

“Thank you, Erik said. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk to me anymore.”

“No,” Charles answered. “I didn’t.” He wasn’t sure how to continue, so he just stood there and tried to untangle the mess of emotions he was experiencing with Erik pressed close to his side in the tight space of the elevator. Before he could make any sense of it they reached the floor.

Erik’s capsule-room varied from the usual in that it had an actual window instead of a screen displaying some enticing false view. The room also had a walk-in shower where normally there would be a tiny plastic stall. Still, there was no place to sit other than the bed, and somehow crawling up there together seemed like a bad idea, so Charles and Erik sat on the floor, leaning their backs on the bed as they passed the bottle of Scotch between them.

“I hate Emma’s plan,” Erik said on the third sip they took. “But everyone seems to be so idiotically enthusiastic about an AI being in charge of the repopulation, my voice doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Still,” Charles said, leaning to get the bottle. “They have actually agreed to all of the major parts of your original plan.” He swallowed the amber liquid, enjoying the warm burn and the pleasant, sweetly bitter taste it left in his mouth.

Erik snorted. “It’s more _your_ plan than mine.”

And when Charles dared to look at Erik’s face with surprise, Erik added, “Oh, what? You thought I hadn’t noticed all the meddling and all the scheming you did with Raven behind my back? I’m surprised they didn’t name it ‘Xavier’s Repopulation Strategy’ to be honest.”

There wasn’t any real annoyance in Erik’s voice, so Charles smiled and said, “Well, great minds and all that…” He waved with his hand, throwing his crutch on the floor by accident. It landed on the carpet with a soft thud.

“So, what’s with the crutch?” Erik asked, taking the bottle out of Charles’s other hand and putting it on the floor. “Raven says you’re all fine now.”

Charles felt oddly uneasy about answering that. It meant going back to events he wasn’t sure he wanted to revisit, not in this particular moment, or ever.

 _You left me, Erik. You abandoned me._ Over the months Charles had spent in the Orbit, this was what Charles had imagined he’d say to Erik. But now, with Erik watching Charles carefully with that weird softness in his eyes, as if he still cared about Charles, and with Erik admitting that he had kept tabs on Charles—now it didn’t feel so important anymore.

“Well, I’m _mostly_ fine. Mostly being the key word here. The Orb’s docs are good,” he added, wincing at the memory of unpleasant and repetitive physical therapy sessions he’d had to endure. “But still, there are moments when, out of the blue, it’s like the connection between my brain and body is cut off or overridden. And then”—he motioned to the floor—“I’m a pile of limbs. I’d rather save myself the embarrassment of falling flat on my face on stage during my speech.” He laughed mirthlessly.

Erik was silent for a moment, probably mulling over the things that Charles had left unsaid about the injury and the time he’d spent on the Orb. Then he picked the crutch up from the floor and twisted it around in his hand.

“May I upgrade this for you?” There was playfulness in Erik’s voice, and Charles had almost forgotten how lovely it sounded.

“Be my guest.”

Erik unscrewed the plastic handle from the top of the crutch. He then produced three metal balls out of his pocket and frowned in concentration. The balls twirled in the air and formed a bigger, glistening sphere that Erik placed on top of the crutch, so it looked like an old, elegant cane—one that could be taken to an ancient ball or reception with a Queen, or one Fred Astaire could dance with.

“Here,” Erik said, handing the cane back for Charles to take. “Now it suits your style way better, Professor.” His grin was very wide, his eyes crinkling with joy, and Charles couldn’t help the warm feeling that unfurled in his chest. And maybe he shouldn’t go down that road again, but Charles guessed a heart had its own ways. So when he was grabbing the cane he let his fingers brush over Erik’s, shuddering when he felt the familiar slight tingle from Erik’s hand-wires. He looked up to see Erik watching him intently, pupils widened and lips slightly parted.

“This is a very bad idea,” Charles said, leaning up to kiss Erik. It must have been the Scotch that made him so bold. Yes, the Scotch was to be blamed. And Erik’s smile and his grey-blue eyes.

It might have been a bad idea, but surely Charles’s body had a different opinion. The heat of arousal hit him hard and almost made him breathless, but there was also a different emotion underlying the desire—something stronger and way more painful, a longing that made Charles whimper a bit and shiver underneath Erik’s touch. He wanted to break the kiss and save himself, run away because he was not going to survive this again if—no, not if, but _when_ —Erik would leave Charles again. It was hard the first time. It would be impossible again.

“Charles,” Erik whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

They were both breathing hard, with lips parted, and when Erik’s grip on Charles’s shirt tightened as if he wasn’t letting Charles go, for once Charles thought that maybe Erik had been as deeply hurt in the aftermath of the whole ordeal as he had been.

“All right,” he said, agreeing to whatever Erik was proposing. He would deal with everything later. He let Erik hoist them up and on the bed and reached towards Erik’s buttons, opening his shirt and running his fingers over the soft and tight flesh of Erik’s chest. He’d almost forgotten how it felt to be wanted by Erik, to be pushed down on the bed and be engulfed in the heat of Erik’s firm, lean body. He’d missed the tingling sensation of Erik’s wired hands on his bare skin.

During the months spent in the Orb Charles hadn’t cared for sex, not even for jerking off, but now he was fully hard and wanting, wanting so much he thought he would burst. “Come on,” he gasped and strained, arching up when Erik wrapped his hand over both their cocks and started stroking. They were so close together, their bodies fitting in the most perfect way, skin rubbing over skin.

“Yes,” Erik said. He thrust up in the grip and Charles moved his hand down to touch too, feeling their cockheads emerging together from Erik’s fist, reveling in the moisture gathered there. He opened his mouth and looked up into Erik’s eyes, searching for something he was suddenly sure he’d found, and then getting lost in that connection. He came with a ragged moan that ripped out of him, and with Erik shuddering above him.

He swallowed hard, after, trying to not think of the pain that he would soon have to embrace, and he hugged Erik tighter, wanting to keep him for a while longer. He couldn’t help it. He hated Erik for what he’d done. He disagreed with Erik’s ways. But he loved him.

Erik didn’t look keen to move for now, though. If anything he snuggled tighter to Charles and then cradled Charles’s face gently in his palms and kissed him, slow and sweet. Charles felt boneless, engulfed in this feeling of belonging, floating in the afterglow of the orgasm. That’s why he missed the first sign of “slipping.” So when the flash of light hit him it was a hard one. He inhaled sharply, fighting against being pulled into Infospace.

“What…?” Erik asked, flinching hard. His fingertips were still pressed to Charles’s temples, caressing him there. “Did you see the light?”

Was that possible that Erik had felt the “slip” along with Charles? It seemed so. Perhaps with Erik as a link to the physical world Charles would be able to dive into Infospace without the threat of getting detached from his physical body? Perhaps Erik could feel it too, being connected through that magnetic, magical way of his. What if…?

“Erik?” he whispered, looking up. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Erik said, without even thinking about it. “Why?”

Charles took a breath. “I want to… I need you not to freak out. I want to show you something. It might not work at all, as this is something I’ve just thought about, but I suspect—I think we could connect like this. When you were soothing my pain back in the car, do you remember? Try to do the same thing now but try it in reverse, so you can feel what I’m sending, okay?”

Erik looked confused.

“Your mojo, it’s mostly about magnetic waves and transmission, isn’t it?” Charles asked.

“I guess you could say that,” Erik answered carefully.

“Okay. Place your hands on both sides of my head like you’ve just done. Press your fingers to my skin there. And focus on what I’m… transmitting.”

Charles didn’t even have to focus on the lights. When he felt the current lighting up his body, he let Infospace pull him in, deeper and deeper, and then he reached for Erik with his mind, directing his sensation towards Erik.

“Oh, fuck,” Erik gasped out. “Is that…?” And when Charles nodded against Erik’s hands, “But how?”

Charles smiled. It was hard to both stay inside Infospace and talk, but the touch of Erik’s palms pressed tightly to Charles’s temples helped. He opened his eyes, holding his grip on reality for a moment. “This, I guess, is a side effect of the Tower accident. No immersion sets needed. I just—dive in. Not always when I want to, mind you. I was wondering if I could share it with you through your…” Charles wiggled his fingers to indicate Erik’s wiring. “Ready for more?”

Erik settled more firmly on top of Charles and stroked Charles’s thumbs with his fingertips. “Is that safe for you?” he asked.

Charles smiled. “Well, as safe as any immersion ever is, I guess? And I have to warn you that afterwards I might have trouble moving and walking for a moment. But—” He paused and added thoughtfully, “Maybe you can help my nervous system adjust? What do you think?”

“You’re insane,” Erik said, grinning. “If I have to resuscitate you after this, I’ll fucking murder you. Okay, I’m ready. Hit me.”

When they dove in this time it was deep—much, much deeper than previously. The structures of Infospace closed up all around them, leaving them inside of an empty, white sphere. It was quiet and peaceful here.

“This is our entry point,” Charles said. He made Erik and himself materialize in the sphere as avatars, molding the code so they looked more or less as they did in reality.

Erik was bewildered. Charles could feel his astonishment through the connection.

“Now, we’ll pass through. Keep tight. I’ll take you along.”

If Charles wasn’t doing it with Erik he’d be excited anyway, but with Erik’s magnetic feedback everything felt bigger, more fascinating, more imbued with meaning.

He thought about taking Erik to the commercial parts of Infospace first, but those representations wouldn’t really be that different to what Erik already knew, as they were designed for average users connecting to Infospace through ordinary devices. In the full immersion, those parts looked like they were made of rough blocks.

So he took Erik to the new Tower—the one that had been redesigned and rebuilt by Jean. The structure wasn’t nearly as huge as when it had been Shaw’s, but the way it was constructed now made it quite otherworldly. Charles could read Erik’s amazement as they were exploring the intricate layers of this design.

“Did Jean make this?” Erik asked.

“Yes, but it is _her_ in a way, too. It’s hard to explain, but she is an entity within Infospace, so she makes things and _is_ them, at the same time. But you feel what I mean, right?”

Erik nodded. “Is this how it always feels for you?” he asked.

Charles laughed. “Yes, but with you here it’s even better. Do you want to dive out yet?” He knew that the first time in full immersion could be quite overwhelming.

“No,” Erik said, reaching out to touch the Tower’s edge. It bent under his fingers, soft and gentle like the surface of water. “I’d like to stay a little bit longer if it’s all right with you?”

When they finally emerged from Infospace, maybe hours later, or maybe minutes—it was always hard for Charles to determine how much time had passed while he was immersed—Charles was exhausted but quite blissed out as well.

His legs, surprisingly, weren’t numb, as he’d expected—instead he felt Erik’s weight on them, grounding him and reminding him of his physical body. He watched Erik, feeling drunk on the expression of wonder in Erik’s face.

“You’re really quite something, aren’t you?” Erik said, stroking Charles’s temple.

“Am I?” Charles asked, not wanting to spoil this moment with his regrets and qualms. He could swear he could physically feel Erik growing sad all of a sudden. He swallowed, bracing himself for whatever Erik wanted to tell him—most probably that they couldn’t be together even now.

“I’m sorry,” Erik said.

Charles watched him with irrepressible hope rising in his chest, and tried hard not to think of anything at, lest he jinx it. He didn’t ask what exactly Erik was apologizing for.

“I’m not _set straight_ ,” he said at last, because of the wrongs Erik had done him, quite irrationally, it was the patronizing way in which Erik had treated him in the hospital that had stung him the most. On a rational level, he could not only understand but even agree with Erik that killing Shaw had been more important than saving Charles. What he couldn’t forgive, though, was how Erik had abandoned him when Charles had needed him most. Even if now Charles felt a bit proud of himself that he had done it all alone. “I might never be _set straight_.”

“I know,” Erik said. “I’m sorry I said that. That was cruel and unnecessary.”

Charles huffed a half-laugh. “It was cruel, yes. But I’m not sure it was unnecessary. Perhaps, without you being such a dick, I wouldn’t have pulled myself together enough to be where I am now.”

“I like where you are now.” Erik started to smile, grinding down on Charles a little.

Charles put his finger on Erik’s lips. He didn’t want this moment to turn into foreplay. He wasn’t letting Erik off that easily. “I’m not saying you’re forgiven.”

Erik grew serious again. “I’m not asking for forgiveness.”

Charles licked his lips. “What are you asking for, then?”

“Another chance with you.”

The air in the room grew dense. Erik’s eyes were grey-green in the light, and Charles could not break the gaze and the connection with Erik. For a moment he wondered if he hadn’t been hypnotized or reprogramed while in Infospace.

“I meant what I said.” Erik’s lips were nearly brushing Charles’s now, his breath warm and sweet. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you ever again. I want you to be by my side, always.”

“Building a new, better world together?” Charles smiled and kissed Erik.

“Yes,” Erik said in between the kisses. 

“How romantic.”

Erik laughed. “What can I say? I’m sentimental like that.”

“I love you being sentimental and old-fashioned.” Charles laced his fingers through Erik’s, enjoying the current from the wires that tickled him, as if enhancing the connection between them even further. “See? We match. I’m old fashioned on the outside but my brain is hacked, and you—you’re wired up on the outside but so traditional on the inside, more so than anyone would ever guess.”

Erik’s eyes widened, but then he leaned in to kiss Charles again. “I didn’t hear a word after you said you loved me.”

The sky above the city was still gray and cloudy, but where Charles and Erik lay tangled together in the sheets it was warm and quiet. And soon enough they’d be under the blue sky of the Old World, where, indeed, they could work together for a better future.

 

THE END


End file.
